[Her eyes flare up, larger, at the question, crimson in the dappled light and even in that sunshine, she feels the shiver. Of winter day gone by and wolves and blood on the snow and screams. There are deep things in the wood, old things, and he's one of them. Older times when villages didn't leave trinkets out for the walking things of legend but much more precious and hard sacrificed blood instead. It's a sharp reminder of older, darker times that may not be so far away to someone like the creature that's in front of her now. His reminder is that winter chill under the door that whispers of hungry things out in the wilds.
Except.
Except if he wanted her blood or bones or body, he would have had them already. She'd made her bargain in desperation but she'd made it honestly. If he'd wanted her that way, he would have had her already, green man of the wood, and he wouldn't have waited so long at it either. So after the first bolt of fear, she recognizes his words for what they are, a push away, rocks thrown to drive off the stray that hangs too close and her eyes fall and she goes back to her work, folding up the skirt and tying it close for easy travel. She doesn't know how many days it will take her to be out of the woods but the sooner she starts, the sooner she ends and clinging to her last traces of familiar and home - she hopes the walk is long enough to let her make peace with leaving it all behind though she doubts she ever will. She's not a city girl and she doesn't look forward to making herself over into one. He's right though. She needs to stop lingering.
He's wrong though if he thinks gifts are all material, if her having no possessions left means she can't be grateful. Taking her life would be the cheapest way of restitution. It's in the living that labor can be done and debts accrued. Straightening, she hoists her makeshift bundle over her shoulder and looks up to gauge sun and direction. A journey is only a step at a time and if she only thinks of it in that small way, she can manage what's ahead. But before she does, she turns to her last remnant of home and her eyes search for the hidden springtime sky behind the pale moss and feathers over his lean face.]
Call me. If you ever have need of me, call me and if I hear you, I will come.
[Perhaps it's arrogant but her willingness is all she has left to give him. Why the wood, or its guardian, would ever need her, she can't imagine - but stranger things have been needed before and even the mouse had its use from time to time.
She's thanked him before and he's taken it ill, so she doesn't make the offer again. Instead she nods, more for herself than him, firming her determination in her mind to move instead of trying to stay longer, and she turns and takes that first step away and into the unknown.
Each step that follows comes a little more naturally.]
no subject
Except.
Except if he wanted her blood or bones or body, he would have had them already. She'd made her bargain in desperation but she'd made it honestly. If he'd wanted her that way, he would have had her already, green man of the wood, and he wouldn't have waited so long at it either. So after the first bolt of fear, she recognizes his words for what they are, a push away, rocks thrown to drive off the stray that hangs too close and her eyes fall and she goes back to her work, folding up the skirt and tying it close for easy travel. She doesn't know how many days it will take her to be out of the woods but the sooner she starts, the sooner she ends and clinging to her last traces of familiar and home - she hopes the walk is long enough to let her make peace with leaving it all behind though she doubts she ever will. She's not a city girl and she doesn't look forward to making herself over into one. He's right though. She needs to stop lingering.
He's wrong though if he thinks gifts are all material, if her having no possessions left means she can't be grateful. Taking her life would be the cheapest way of restitution. It's in the living that labor can be done and debts accrued. Straightening, she hoists her makeshift bundle over her shoulder and looks up to gauge sun and direction. A journey is only a step at a time and if she only thinks of it in that small way, she can manage what's ahead. But before she does, she turns to her last remnant of home and her eyes search for the hidden springtime sky behind the pale moss and feathers over his lean face.]
Call me. If you ever have need of me, call me and if I hear you, I will come.
[Perhaps it's arrogant but her willingness is all she has left to give him. Why the wood, or its guardian, would ever need her, she can't imagine - but stranger things have been needed before and even the mouse had its use from time to time.
She's thanked him before and he's taken it ill, so she doesn't make the offer again. Instead she nods, more for herself than him, firming her determination in her mind to move instead of trying to stay longer, and she turns and takes that first step away and into the unknown.
Each step that follows comes a little more naturally.]