Witch's Marsh prorsus

Ico dipped his head elegantly towards the hare as if to consider another bite, but paused mid-dip at Germanicus's words, from here gazing up at the sterling guard. Pulse beating an intense rhythm beneath his jaw, Ico considered his words... but there was no veil to lift, no web to untangle, no code to decipher. Germanicus was the most forthright creature he'd ever met — an oasis in a desert of uncertainty.

Of course the lad glanced away shyly, and he tilted his head a little as if disinclined to believe such a compliment could ever be spoken by someone like the soldier. And he didn't even speak it as if it were a compliment. Ico did not mean to command anybody's eye... but here they were.

I... he began a little shakily, but then swallowed. He finally maintained more than a second of eye-contact — and the regal man's eyes were the colour of a late Winter sunrise. I'm wondering what stories of you I will fabricate for myself. I do that sometimes. Make up stories.