[ the truth settles between them as aspen comes close. a story not uncommon. an uncomfortable weight pulls at him. there was so much left undone when he came here, his kingdom at the mercy of a man who would abuse the most defenseless of their citizens, who would surely lead them into another war. he finds his thoughts turning to damen and carefully seals them away before any uncomfortable feelings can arise. ]
I know what it’s like to be hunted. [ a confession that startles him. he decides not to speak, since he’s unsure what words might come out next, instead focusing his attention on the warmth of aspen’s wings, fluttering mere inches from him. laurent does not get close to people, even physically, as a general rule. it’s a well known and accepted fact in vere, something he no longer has to explain or ask for. trying to sidle up to the prince was a good way to end up on the cross. his men give him a wide berth and satisfy themselves with baseless gossip instead. but suddenly there is a body, and laurent has not felt that sort of complicated warmth in so long.
his hand moves, the slightest of tremors in his fingertips, and nestles into soft feathers. he expects it to feel quite like a pillow, but aspen’s wings are impossibly soft, warm beneath his hand, quivering and alive. laurent’s breath has taken on an uneven quality, his entire body taut with tension, his heart rabbiting in his chest, as if this tiny act costs him a great deal. ]
no subject
I know what it’s like to be hunted. [ a confession that startles him. he decides not to speak, since he’s unsure what words might come out next, instead focusing his attention on the warmth of aspen’s wings, fluttering mere inches from him. laurent does not get close to people, even physically, as a general rule. it’s a well known and accepted fact in vere, something he no longer has to explain or ask for. trying to sidle up to the prince was a good way to end up on the cross. his men give him a wide berth and satisfy themselves with baseless gossip instead. but suddenly there is a body, and laurent has not felt that sort of complicated warmth in so long.
his hand moves, the slightest of tremors in his fingertips, and nestles into soft feathers. he expects it to feel quite like a pillow, but aspen’s wings are impossibly soft, warm beneath his hand, quivering and alive. laurent’s breath has taken on an uneven quality, his entire body taut with tension, his heart rabbiting in his chest, as if this tiny act costs him a great deal. ]