[Her eyes follow as he strips the cloth into something more like bandages. Not privy to his thoughts at first, she can only guess at their content… but guessing was a fool’s game. If she knew…
(So be it, she might say, her voice just as sullen. I stopped allowing myself to dream a long time ago.)
But she doesn’t, and instead… he says something that demands her attention far more. There is an instinctive part of her that wants to lash out at the word desirous, even before she knows what context he actually means for it. She had spent her whole life jostling in the hierarchy of armed jinba kept at her master’s stables, desperately fighting for place in a world designed for men, (even more desperately trying to avoid the fate of the pitiful broodmare that had birthed her), and a part of that was making sure no jinba or lowly groom who ever made comments about her as a woman be allowed not to suffer for them.
But she doesn’t know the way he means it, (surely just as a playmate, a mortal dancing for a god’s amusement), and so… she simply moves a hand to hold the bandage as he requests, holding her tongue the same. No, she does not know the things he speaks of…. And she does listen, it is just…
Desirous, he’d said, and he is so close now. As she shifts and arches to allow him to bind her wound, there are too many ways they almost touch. She bites into her lip to prevent a whimper from slipping out as the tight layers are wrapped to compress the wound and disguise once more the fuller curves of the breasts she’d always hid away, as crimson slowly stains the first few passes of cloth and also begins to creep up her throat and into her cheeks in the form of a flush she cannot prevent. His hair is fire red… like Matsukaze’s had been. Was. Is. Behind the heavy thud of her main heart in her equine half… the auxiliary one in her more human looking chest, the one so close to his hands, beats in echoed symphony.
I wonder what we are fated to become to one another.]
Is it not decided already… ?
[Fate.]
You will bless me in battle until I have killed that demon, I die, or you tire of my stagnance… and then, after you have left me, as the years pass… you will forget I ever existed at all.
[Won’t he? Surely such was the fate of a mortal and a god. Was it right? Was it upsetting? She certainly did not know, but.
Her hand holds the end of the bandage tightly to her sternum long after she could have released it.]
If you thought to leave me rounded when you leave and get a child of a god out of our deal…
[Mistakenly thinking that is the insinuation he presents with this talk of desire and the children of gods, Hayame’s expression grows guarded and dark.
If that was the price she would give his blessing back right then and there.]
no subject
(So be it, she might say, her voice just as sullen. I stopped allowing myself to dream a long time ago.)
But she doesn’t, and instead… he says something that demands her attention far more. There is an instinctive part of her that wants to lash out at the word desirous, even before she knows what context he actually means for it. She had spent her whole life jostling in the hierarchy of armed jinba kept at her master’s stables, desperately fighting for place in a world designed for men, (even more desperately trying to avoid the fate of the pitiful broodmare that had birthed her), and a part of that was making sure no jinba or lowly groom who ever made comments about her as a woman be allowed not to suffer for them.
But she doesn’t know the way he means it, (surely just as a playmate, a mortal dancing for a god’s amusement), and so… she simply moves a hand to hold the bandage as he requests, holding her tongue the same. No, she does not know the things he speaks of…. And she does listen, it is just…
Desirous, he’d said, and he is so close now. As she shifts and arches to allow him to bind her wound, there are too many ways they almost touch. She bites into her lip to prevent a whimper from slipping out as the tight layers are wrapped to compress the wound and disguise once more the fuller curves of the breasts she’d always hid away, as crimson slowly stains the first few passes of cloth and also begins to creep up her throat and into her cheeks in the form of a flush she cannot prevent. His hair is fire red… like Matsukaze’s had been. Was. Is. Behind the heavy thud of her main heart in her equine half… the auxiliary one in her more human looking chest, the one so close to his hands, beats in echoed symphony.
I wonder what we are fated to become to one another.]
Is it not decided already… ?
[Fate.]
You will bless me in battle until I have killed that demon, I die, or you tire of my stagnance… and then, after you have left me, as the years pass… you will forget I ever existed at all.
[Won’t he? Surely such was the fate of a mortal and a god. Was it right? Was it upsetting? She certainly did not know, but.
Her hand holds the end of the bandage tightly to her sternum long after she could have released it.]
If you thought to leave me rounded when you leave and get a child of a god out of our deal…
[Mistakenly thinking that is the insinuation he presents with this talk of desire and the children of gods, Hayame’s expression grows guarded and dark.
If that was the price she would give his blessing back right then and there.]