For a moment it’s a stupid little test of wills — or whatever you call the opposite. Alais sits stock in place, aware of his presence, and just as clearly hesitating to turn.
The pads of her fingers dig in sharp, pricked not to blood (what an awful idea that would be), but the imprint of shape. She turns,
Feels a bit stupid for it: Flushed cheeks, and the ragged shape of a gardener; and who else did she expect to find in a garden, anyway?
“Did you need the path …?”
As though she can’t think of any better reason to stare.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2020-07-20 01:47 am (UTC)The pads of her fingers dig in sharp, pricked not to blood (what an awful idea that would be), but the imprint of shape. She turns,
Feels a bit stupid for it: Flushed cheeks, and the ragged shape of a gardener; and who else did she expect to find in a garden, anyway?
“Did you need the path …?”
As though she can’t think of any better reason to stare.