Undoubtedly she was bold, but no more than a tree would stand tall against the coming storm. It knew of its disadvantage; a fixed thing that had grown in the land it was planted. It knew that in time it would bent, wither, and fall away to become one with the earth. It was it was fragile against the elements, shedding tired leaves in the summer til its balded in the winter. It knew that though it stood tall and braced against a violent storm, its risk of bending was no greater than any other being that walked upon the earth. A calm acceptance that gave to her humility.
She dipped her head in such humble grace before him, not in bow but in courtesy; it was she that imposed upon his quiet moment. The withered tree that stood in the path of the storm.
"Would you remain awake then," she continued as softly as she began. "And offer me your warmth, that I may live through a dream?" It was strange, yes, to present this request to a stranger so openly, but she offered no hesitation. Only a whispered call of need. The dangers of the unknown were not forgotten, but ignored. Lest she find her end by another's fangs or the snap of winter or of withering to age, she would pass into the next life when her time was ready. Though if it would be by a stranger, drawn under the beautiful illusion of safety, as least she would depart the world in warmth. How much kinder that would have been, than dying beneath the snow. |