[ what has changed? it’s a good question, if he cares to voice it. what was so different between the tension they’d shared and this easy existence? yennefer wouldn’t be able to name it, if he asked, but she would be able to acknowledge it - that they could so easily be that, and also this. that somehow, both versions of them felt right. both versions had felt like them, whatever that is supposed to mean in a world where half of the them has no recollection of when it started. when they became a them at all.
considering how their conversation had gone earlier, perhaps she should be more surprised to feel a rhythm build. perhaps this should be so simple, so effortless. she wants to talk like this forever, perhaps. to share the glow of candlelight and this warm bed. she feels encased, but not trapped - the wolf at her back and those golden eyes at her front, chuckling, light, joking about fangs like anything could be as simple.
her smile grows, holding back what could probably be a laugh, some small part of her terrified that if she makes too abrupt a sound that it may shake them both out of sync. instead, he says yen with a kind of softness that she feels through her ribs, her own curiosity bubbling. ]
Why is that? [ that he’s the last person to ask, the last person she would want to ask. she doesn’t believe that, somehow, and it makes her deathly curious - but she doesn’t push it. instead, she leans back onto her back on the bed again, turning her face back to the wolf. to her companion, through this journey. to her guide, her friend, to the one reason she was brought here at all. she runs her fingers along his soft white fur, feeling it through her fingers, the gentle rhythm of his breath.
a name. what should she name it? what does a person, with no memories, no schooling, no idea of where her own name has come from - supposed to name her longest (active memory alone) companion?
yennefer is silent, for a few moments, lost in thought. ]
Gwiazda. [ she says, after a moment - turning her attention back to him, though her hand remains on the wolf. it is not so much that she’s waiting for approval so much that she’s curious if it fits what he had expect to hear. ]
no subject
considering how their conversation had gone earlier, perhaps she should be more surprised to feel a rhythm build. perhaps this should be so simple, so effortless. she wants to talk like this forever, perhaps. to share the glow of candlelight and this warm bed. she feels encased, but not trapped - the wolf at her back and those golden eyes at her front, chuckling, light, joking about fangs like anything could be as simple.
her smile grows, holding back what could probably be a laugh, some small part of her terrified that if she makes too abrupt a sound that it may shake them both out of sync. instead, he says yen with a kind of softness that she feels through her ribs, her own curiosity bubbling. ]
Why is that? [ that he’s the last person to ask, the last person she would want to ask. she doesn’t believe that, somehow, and it makes her deathly curious - but she doesn’t push it. instead, she leans back onto her back on the bed again, turning her face back to the wolf. to her companion, through this journey. to her guide, her friend, to the one reason she was brought here at all. she runs her fingers along his soft white fur, feeling it through her fingers, the gentle rhythm of his breath.
a name. what should she name it? what does a person, with no memories, no schooling, no idea of where her own name has come from - supposed to name her longest (active memory alone) companion?
yennefer is silent, for a few moments, lost in thought. ]
Gwiazda. [ she says, after a moment - turning her attention back to him, though her hand remains on the wolf. it is not so much that she’s waiting for approval so much that she’s curious if it fits what he had expect to hear. ]