[ He bristles again, at that, and his drab brown cowbird passengers scatter, but the prickly reaction seems more born out of his natural skepticism than any token offense. More human superstition, perhaps, as if he were more like the the huldrefolk or finwives and held the remotest interest in regards to human dealings - the kind that didn't overlap into his territory, that is.
In spite of his less than polite dismissal, though, he isn't utterly ungracious in the face of such an obvious offering of good will. Mimicking her gesture, at length, he holds out his own hand in similarly static fashion, after a brief study seems to satisfy his suspicion that this is some manner of formal greeting.
His own name holds no similar pall over his quiet existence, though there are plenty of voices in which he could wish never to hear it again, so he offers it without a whit of the same cautious mind. ]
Cloud.
[ If he harbors any empathetic notions for that glimpse of her deeper present plight, they remain hidden - but not entirely. There's a noticeable shift as he drops his hand (weird greeting), reaches for an under ripe berry, that might be uncertainty or discomfort.
But like all of the little concessions he's made, he does his best to cover it up, in the same moment. Chewing not thoughtfully, but almost sulkily, as he speaks. ]
They're probably convinced you're dead, by now.
[ Even if she doesn't look weak, isn't, by all appearances, to have survived the winter over- Which brought up all sorts of other questions. ] Why'd they chase you off, anyway?
no subject
[ He bristles again, at that, and his drab brown cowbird passengers scatter, but the prickly reaction seems more born out of his natural skepticism than any token offense. More human superstition, perhaps, as if he were more like the the huldrefolk or finwives and held the remotest interest in regards to human dealings - the kind that didn't overlap into his territory, that is.
In spite of his less than polite dismissal, though, he isn't utterly ungracious in the face of such an obvious offering of good will. Mimicking her gesture, at length, he holds out his own hand in similarly static fashion, after a brief study seems to satisfy his suspicion that this is some manner of formal greeting.
His own name holds no similar pall over his quiet existence, though there are plenty of voices in which he could wish never to hear it again, so he offers it without a whit of the same cautious mind. ]
Cloud.
[ If he harbors any empathetic notions for that glimpse of her deeper present plight, they remain hidden - but not entirely. There's a noticeable shift as he drops his hand (weird greeting), reaches for an under ripe berry, that might be uncertainty or discomfort.
But like all of the little concessions he's made, he does his best to cover it up, in the same moment. Chewing not thoughtfully, but almost sulkily, as he speaks. ]
They're probably convinced you're dead, by now.
[ Even if she doesn't look weak, isn't, by all appearances, to have survived the winter over- Which brought up all sorts of other questions. ] Why'd they chase you off, anyway?