Phoenix Maplewood dancing to the beat of a midnight raga

aditya was such a change of pace from most males she knew: indra was still digesting how different he was from the hyper-masculine, surly men of her life. it was refreshing, in a way -- he seemed so assured, so poised -- yet despite the immensity of his frame he carried a softness with him that spoke of genuine radiance.

he seemed to understand the tether that drew her to her birthplace, but as he glanced away indra caught the sheepish emotion that spilled across his muzzle. her gaze fell to the ground quietly, unsure if he wanted her to witness such bald emotion. what he asked next caused her to stiffen, but not out of protectiveness -- rather, she had detected trepidation in his voice.

she shook her head firmly. "no. i own no claim over it. you do, though." she supplied her utterance with another solid shake: "i have not been here in years. i only came.. well.. " she offered a terse smile as she thought about sharing the nature of hers and phoenix's visit -- it was a sordid family thing, and she did not want to burden him with it. "the male that was with me the other day, he wanted to see it."