With docile charm, Evelyn's head lowered in the slightest of nods. She would stay with him as long as he wished it; she was content to lay by his side until her sun-bleached bones had long since turned to dust.
Connor sighed and flopped upon the ground a good distance away from the adults, his lavender eyes woeful. He had made the mistake of allowing himself to be caught up in passionate thoughts of revenge and noble servitude. And now...
... and now he must wait.
Turning his thoughts inwards as he had done so many times since he had grown, he retreated behind his carefully-tended stoic masque. His expression stony, he gazed off into the distant with bovine complacency.
With swift yet eloquent movements, she shifted her position so that he might rest his weary head on her soft form without twisting his own precarious stance.
Though crimson stains might mar your coat, gaping wounds distorting your lithe figure as a ceaseless crimson tide seems to carve a path in your very skin, one ebony wing hanging limp against your side and cerulean eyes dimmed with pain and long suffrage... you are beautiful to me.
