She hummed as he talked. She wondered if the voices of grass were as slow and lazy as the smoke that curled up from their combusting bodies. They were dead, of course. Hollandaise did not think use of plants cruel, even when sudden and unexpected. It was wanton destruction that was worrying. there had to be a point for any and everything, even if the point was sheerly pleasure.
"Yes, I have seen the grass grown in the forest. I like slow things." She did, sort of, but she was also fascinated by fast, by bright flashes of things that burned out quickly and left behind ash. She made a small noise, eyes closing, when his hands touched her hair. It felt foreign and good and sent tiny shivers down her spine. Warders did not like physical contact, typically, but she did... more or less. Hollandaise was still wary when creeple came too close to her leaves.
"Warders do not," she sighed out, eyes still closed. Her hands laid limply in her lap.
"-but you are warm and..." Having someone touch her hair was very nice, indeed. His hands slipped lower and she tensed. What was she doing, anyway? Letting someone pet her like a minpet, letting a stranger near her... And then he touched her leaves and she jerked away. Hollandaise wished she could simply shove her branches and leaves under a shirt and forget about them, but she couldn't. And she was far too worried about someone accidentally pulling them off.
She crossed her arms up, over her chest, covering her shoudlers.
"I must go." And she bolted.
