[It's good these ears at naturally constructed to pick up the slightest sound, even miles and miles out, further than she can see. His voice is flimsy, but she doesn't miss a syllable. Silly to say she walks with him in silence, this is how it is though: her presence is quieter, solemn, only the slushing faint crush of his step, of paw pads and claws sinking to leave prints of themselves in their wake, not accounting for the wind.
When he speaks about the other refugees having and having not returned to stasis, she's looking away, but her ear closest tilts to collect his voice, and she walks like this for sometime. Pensive and reflective. By now, even the new know of the dragon, but she's been made aware of other things. She wants to be close to people, to shelter them, provide warmth to them, but much of the time people do things that are incomprehensible to her. It's not that it sways her heart any, but if she brought a universe into existence on the basis of love, it hurts her. That not every world and galaxy, that not all life came into itself in the same way she began it is something she often forgets. For her, every motivation stems from love, she can't function, being who and what she is, or comprehend a place without it.
She wonders what they've gone through individually. Collectively, recently, it's been too much. Leaving anyone behind to face this freezing or some unknown threat has her on edge. It's not common she worries like this, but she's in doubts about how to do what she's done best. After a minute, she's peering up at him, conflicted. It's not easy getting used to people being unable to hear her and then wanting to talk to someone very much.
He didn't have to remember her, he could shoo her away even now, struggle with her insistence.
These aren't small gestures. You're bigger than you think; you're more than enough, are the words in mind, the words that will remain unheard. Perhaps it's a hidden miracle. She isn't certain he'd take well to sincere appreciation.]
no subject
When he speaks about the other refugees having and having not returned to stasis, she's looking away, but her ear closest tilts to collect his voice, and she walks like this for sometime. Pensive and reflective. By now, even the new know of the dragon, but she's been made aware of other things. She wants to be close to people, to shelter them, provide warmth to them, but much of the time people do things that are incomprehensible to her. It's not that it sways her heart any, but if she brought a universe into existence on the basis of love, it hurts her. That not every world and galaxy, that not all life came into itself in the same way she began it is something she often forgets. For her, every motivation stems from love, she can't function, being who and what she is, or comprehend a place without it.
She wonders what they've gone through individually. Collectively, recently, it's been too much. Leaving anyone behind to face this freezing or some unknown threat has her on edge. It's not common she worries like this, but she's in doubts about how to do what she's done best. After a minute, she's peering up at him, conflicted. It's not easy getting used to people being unable to hear her and then wanting to talk to someone very much.
He didn't have to remember her, he could shoo her away even now, struggle with her insistence.
These aren't small gestures. You're bigger than you think; you're more than enough, are the words in mind, the words that will remain unheard. Perhaps it's a hidden miracle. She isn't certain he'd take well to sincere appreciation.]