Silverlight Terrace charm’d magic casements

the tense quiet of the terrace, draped in the silk sugar of moonlight, which lómëvása drinks up eagerly; tasting silt of damp earth is interrupted by a chuff and the empyrean startles, panic tangling with his breath in his throat; captive —

lómëvása turns quickly; guard hairs prickling as carpathian grey eyes rapidly take in the shadow draped woman; heartbeat shuttering in his chest.

for a moment, verbal language has taken flight from him like spooked songbirds until he draws in a small, shallow breath; uneasy.

she does not draw to mind recognition and thus he assures himself is not one of the marauders. after all, he spent the last half an hour going over and over the assurances that they would not dare track him this far from their claim.

even so, her approach behind him — the fact that his stigmata was the first thing to draw eyes, burns within him; quietly. d`you always sneak on strangers like zat?