Ouroboros Spine tuvragaa ⊪

the spread does not evade him. his eyes absorb the scene with a curiosity that is beyond him, his movements now cautious as he approaches. he does not trust this. but why? he had no reason not to.

perhaps he is not used to such kindness. come from a world of ruggedness and little kindness, this is not something he's ever seen and he does not know how to trust it. and his discomfort should be clear, from the way his ears pull backwards, the flickering of his gaze to anywhere but her.

but it is when she speaks that he might calm down, even if only a little. but still, he doesn't find himself sitting, only standing awkwardly outside of her ulaq, but now letting his eyes investigate if only a little. she tells him of her troubles.

he has only one question: why? it is visible the way it crosses his face, then he looks at her, yellow eyes distant of any emotion. he feels... sympathy for her. it is a harsh tale; unfortunately, the bitter truth of life, often. he sees that she is a woman who fears the downfall of what she has built, and masa blinks gently.

you have my sympathies. a voice handsome, but a voice strained by a life lived hard—a life that has only spanned a few years, and yet he exudes the presence of someone who has lived for longer. masa lets himself sit, finally. why do you tell me this?