Common

her eyes held him, evenly piqued by the lingering sensation of his touch against her flank. She watched him carefully, weighing the largess of what he had committed in doing so. It was a painless, though poised itself as an imposition she was not sure how to take. Her rump swung opposite of him, so she could face him better. His question lingered in the sparse distance between them, and though she’d bore more fire in her heart than others, she staved off the need to meet him with cruelty.

A kindness of her own, expressed with a grin and a bemused shake of her head, “An island, someone’s dwelling? A gathering ground?” She could pepper him with more, fill his ears with an exasperating list of droll answers. But she saw he was young yet; confident, his eyes lit with bravado and pride. It seemed far too uncouth and beyond politeness to tighten his wrists with ostentatious displays of vivacity. No, she decided them to be kinder yet. Young, and ambitious was a trait to be celebrated and embraced—to be nurtured and given room to thrive. Her friendliness bade to be the sunlight, and her might of fortitude would be the water: to help the roots spread, to help the stalk grow strong and tall. “I suppose you mean to bring me home.”