Post by Abe Sapien on Jun 17, 2009 1:26:29 GMT -7
He weighed her silence that seemed to stretch forever and a day, their bond like spider webbing, strong and delicate, unbreakable and fragile. There was so much more he wanted to show her but overwhelming her wouldn’t have made a very good impression. Her fading guilt made Abraham grasped onto it in gentle questioning and the quirk of his head. The thrum of mental syllables of a name so similar to hers, her brother and once again their mingling memories drifted apart, slipping away so easily. She smiled and he wondered if she had understand his surreptitious desire to see her so. The silence continues and the threads of doubt worm easily into his sudden confidence and Abraham immediately starts coming up with unworthy excuses to ease the tension. Another time, my knee hurts, we should eat first. But they’re empty and hollow words.
Her growing smile and gentle tilt of her head easily vanish the doubt. The soft ethereal of her voice made his head spin and she is suddenly the most magnificent thing in the world. He moved, pulled by unseen strings to stand and his hand refused to leave hers as he gently guides her to stand and away from the table. Somewhere in the hazy mist of his mind he remembered music but the CD had already switched over to a new composure and the first notes of Bach’s cello suite number one prelude filtered through. The cellist played the song a touch faster then what the beautiful song required but the wonderful and sad melody befitted their moment.
Abraham lead the elven princess towards the middle of the room, one hand on hers while the other remained tucked behind his back. Many hours had been spent in his watery library dwelling swimming to Bach and Vivaldi and imagining what it would be like to dance to it. And when no one was around to laugh, he left soggy footprints in the carpet that foretold of his attempts. A thought drifted, his own, he had never danced an elven dance and he sure Nuala had yet to experience the various dances of man. They were both at odds but somewhere, he knew they meet. The man drew the hand at his back away and offered it to the princess to take and paused at the placement of his other, hovering at her waist. The twitch of his fingers bared his nerves and he looked to her for permission before he ghosted his hand across the gauzy material along her back and settled his palm into a proper place to support. He was relying on every book he had read at this point. The act drew him closer and he marveled at how much warmer she was then him.
“Follow my lead,” his voice was a whisper so to not break the moment and his mouth pursed and the light merriment couldn’t be withheld as he added, “I will try not to step on your toes.” And with that, he led the princess into the first step, a light sidestep then back, leaning gently away to let her follow and his hand on her back pressed lightly to guide.
Her growing smile and gentle tilt of her head easily vanish the doubt. The soft ethereal of her voice made his head spin and she is suddenly the most magnificent thing in the world. He moved, pulled by unseen strings to stand and his hand refused to leave hers as he gently guides her to stand and away from the table. Somewhere in the hazy mist of his mind he remembered music but the CD had already switched over to a new composure and the first notes of Bach’s cello suite number one prelude filtered through. The cellist played the song a touch faster then what the beautiful song required but the wonderful and sad melody befitted their moment.
Abraham lead the elven princess towards the middle of the room, one hand on hers while the other remained tucked behind his back. Many hours had been spent in his watery library dwelling swimming to Bach and Vivaldi and imagining what it would be like to dance to it. And when no one was around to laugh, he left soggy footprints in the carpet that foretold of his attempts. A thought drifted, his own, he had never danced an elven dance and he sure Nuala had yet to experience the various dances of man. They were both at odds but somewhere, he knew they meet. The man drew the hand at his back away and offered it to the princess to take and paused at the placement of his other, hovering at her waist. The twitch of his fingers bared his nerves and he looked to her for permission before he ghosted his hand across the gauzy material along her back and settled his palm into a proper place to support. He was relying on every book he had read at this point. The act drew him closer and he marveled at how much warmer she was then him.
“Follow my lead,” his voice was a whisper so to not break the moment and his mouth pursed and the light merriment couldn’t be withheld as he added, “I will try not to step on your toes.” And with that, he led the princess into the first step, a light sidestep then back, leaning gently away to let her follow and his hand on her back pressed lightly to guide.