Hoshor Plains unreal unearth

she is not bothered by his sense of remorse even though she does not think it warranted. it is only at the last, echoing choice of word that she finds a chain tied around her lungs. terrible — he'd thought her life terrible. was it wrong of her to not think it so?

she had not once thought her upbringing to be as he described, she'd only thought it normal. but she was learning that perhaps it had not been, and that the world had been a small place when confined to a bird cage.

he spoke of power, of awe, of spirits, and she did not speak at all. she listened though, sipping the glass of information as he poured into it. his story brief, but one she enjoyed for the knowledge it gave her. she thought it an admirable thing to be able to talk so easily.

"you are a poetic man fjall." and she meant it in all regards of the word. he was like poetry written in corporeal form. from his butterfly beauty to the softness of his words. "my upbringing was thought terrible by you," there was not hostility to her words, only muddled wonder, "but i would rather take that than the loneliness i sense from yours."

she turned to him then, truly, to read the lines of his face.