the star-faced son of the shadow-grin
male | three | 31 inches | 155 pounds | no heart | no soul | far walker of taviora
He proposes that they might join his brothers, but it is mostly because he is too young to have more than a lingering interest and too old to not wonder about what she might look like when she was older. He does not know how to handle thoughts like these, feeling odd and strangely vulnerable; it was unwise to have such a clear vulnerability so soon for someone so new. He fancies that perhaps he is more like the uncle of gold, falling fast and destined for heartbreak - but for now offers Liah the decision to stay with him or for them both to go catch up to their companions.
She, it seems, was not so bashful as he was. Her attention more pointed than he had anticipated from her more shy demeanor from moments ago.
“I am fine laying here with you. Perhaps we can join them later.” He nods to her, pink eyes looking as though he might have taken heart that she wanted some time, even if his body looked like he was made more nervous. He can hear his brothers in the growing distance, but he knows how to find them if they disappear. He can settle in a little more, he thinks.
“I think I would like that.”
“You mentioned stars, I want to learn more about them. The stars are so stationary yet some are so much brighter than others, different shades of color. Larger, even. Do those things mean anything about the stars?”
Her sudden words prick his ears and his chest grows tightened at the tilt of her head, nerves pricked in the way that young men rarely understand. It is only good for Liah that she had no pigtails to pull and he was rather a bit too introverted to tug at them. What he enjoys is her questions about his most favorite thing. Stars, moons, the cosmos above their heads that seemed to whisper secrets to him as they did to Yojimbo of his father Seamus’s stories.
“There are many stories that would tell you about them, but I cannot say which stories are true. I only know that their pathways and their brightness and placement in the night sky can foretell things to come.”
He does not know if he can explain, but he tries a new tactic to keep the conversation alive.
“One story, though, says that we become stars when we die - that our fur gives off the slightest color that can be seen down here.” He smiles, fidgeting in his gladness of this topic returning.
“Connie and Vlad’s dads are up there. There is a very bright, angry red, star that we think has to be Uncle Ifrit… Then there is one that seems almost white, but also yellow, and Connie’s dad was called the Shining Prince when he was here. We think that must be him.”
