Overture Downs No matter where I sleep

She finds it hard to meet his gaze save for in discrete glances - as if the knowing glint in his jade optics will read too deeply beneath the surface of her composure. 

The smile seems genuine and when his voice reaches her submissively-pinned ears it's filled with undertones of warmth. Tension slowly flees her taut frame which was held in suspicious suspension, as if the fae were ready to bolt at the first sign of danger. Perhaps if Liri were not so utterly broken, she might even manage a friendly conversation with the dark stranger. 

"Sorin," she mimics, accidentally pronouncing the title in the inflections of her mother tongue. She nods, subconsciously thinking that the elders would have approved of such a name - it was strong, northern, regardless of his origin. 

Her lips part at the question, but no answer is forthcoming. Falling silent as she chewed anxiously at a split lip, Liri found it easier to direct her gaze at the stream rather than Sorin's patient features. 

"The nights are the hardest," the healer whispers forlornly, almost to herself as oak eyes lift in the direction of the Creek's borders. 

She can still see Kavik, dark features arranged in remorse as the pale girl fled from the truth. 

He didn't love her. Maybe he never had if it was so easy to forget her - his wife. 

Liri's eyes closed in pain as she drew in a deep breath, attempting to collect herself. "Forgive me," she whispers, too numb to care if he will. "I don't believe I make very good company." 

But perhaps the raven-coated male before her understands being haunted by the past, Liri considers as her gaze finds him. The scars coating his frame spoke of violence, of war, where Liri's hinted at abuse. Still, understanding filled her mahogany optics and she hoped that perhaps the raven might not find her so odd after all.