Qeya River [m] ghosts

he watches as she casts eyes upwards, as if regaling the heavens. and there under the stars, they paint a picture of prosperity; of gloom never to be had, where she is a picture of beauty that is holy. he sees her, past crimson eyes, watching as raven fur falls over her in soft rivulets.

he knows he could never be worthy of her.

but by the gods, he would try.

he moves about her in a wide berth as she comes to a stop, eyes still upon the twilight. she asks him if he knows anything about her culture, and for a moment, his mind is blank. he simply watches her, eyes roaming from neck fur to face, and he is quiet for several moments. before, he speaks, voice softer now:

anything you wish me to know.