Swiftcurrent Creek Indigo

Lissome, the lowering of her hips to settle and the faintest scent cloys at him upon the evening breeze. If she gave nothing away for her reasons for trailing so far from the desert—this certainly spoke volumes to the man who was unfortunately privy to the darker aspects of palace living.

A tick in his jaw—the grip of claw, but he remains settled—firm. Eset, she tells him, and he finds himself giving a gentle nod—an ear swiveling to the night peepers—as if allowing them to ground him for the moment, that this was forest, vale and river. Not the dry sands of the desert.

There is no herb-encrusted or marinated meat—flourishes of plants and color added to  every meal. Embellishments of fur and feather upon shoulders and skin—there is only this.

Nature, in her element.

“Akavir,” he offers, his gaze sweeping to her face, struck for a moment by the soft beauty there. “This is a safe space, Eset… If you need it to be so.”