Faithful Pebble
Part Thirty-Five
"Consider this: if a stranger such as myself is able to hear your story, take pity on you and descend into this darkness to save you, then there is also a possibility that others of good intent might exist beyond this valley in which you have lived. There is good in this world, and you only have to find it. This I will promise you, I promise I will be there to help." His hand extended, the wanderer, spread out further like the pure white lip of a drooping calla lily. His arm, too, stretched and lengthened and hovered as he tried in patient earnest to bridge the gap that lay between her and him. It was only three feet, but to Pebble, three feet had never seemed so far.
Iris stared at his hand, his brown and dark and green stout hand, the first human palm she had seen in many long dim years, since the day she fell in the well. It was perfect it seemed. Even in the low light of his pocket watch clutched in her own gruesome and cruelly honed creation, his hand appeared perfect, his fingers, his palm and flexing wrist. She swallowed heavily and took another step back, drifted near an entrance, an exit, a tunnel draped in stark shadow. "But what," she said. "W-what if I don't want to go with you?"
Something in the wanderer's gaze softened. She had seen it. He had done it on purpose. "Then, I would respect your wish," he said.
"Oh," she whispered. "And… and what if I wish to stay? You could get tired of me."
A smile sprouted across his lips as he considered her quietly. "I highly doubt that," he answered. "But… No, I will welcome your company, covered or not." She instantly grabbed her hood and his smile curled even further. He saw that question coming. He didn't see the next one.
"And what if I want to come back?" she asked softly.
The wanderer paused, the tenderness of his gaze returning, the humor fading slowly. He took a breath and lowered his hand, folded his arms across a chest covered in dirt and leather and wool and growing displeasure. "If," he said. "If you become that upset by what you find up there, then I will bring you home again. This too I promise you. I will carry you if I must."
She could hear the sadness in his voice, the slight disappointment. In silence, she considered him, all she knew so far. Nameless, he appeared to travel alone. He described himself as a wanderer… of some sort. Iris tilted her head. Her hood inflated and deflated. Perhaps, it was the loneliness she heard deepen the tremor of his tenor spoken word. Maybe, it was his words themselves, his promises and persuasions. Or even, perhaps, it was because he seemed so—standing there in the darkness, her darkness—that he appeared to be as drawn to her as she was to him.
Perhaps.
Maybe.
After a moment, many long and anxious moments, Pebble made a decision.
She stepped forward aware of his gaze as she lifted a clawed hand, a black and drenched and filthy marred thing that shyly grasped his own. In silence, he allowed the gesture, accepted it in stunned silence and into that stunned silence, she spoke softly. "If the world is as you say, then that possibility would never happen. If you are as you appear, then I wouldn't wish to leave. Only time… only she will tell," she said.
The wanderer considered her a second, a minute, a moment more before he tugged her close and leaned in closer to kiss the tender side of her head, her temple through dirty coarse fabric which effectively hid everything but her fear, bravery and blossoming awe.
It was there in that kiss, in that well below those dim, blooming stars when the two realized that something fragile had ignited somewhere between them. Something emerged, a seed planted with the possibility to grow into something beautiful if allowed. The wanderer closed his eyes and struggled, not for the first time, to restrain the hope that was now raging in his heart of hearts. For after all—
Tick
Tick
Tick
—their story had just begun and there was sure to be a long road ahead of them.
Looking down, he spied the watch dangling from claw-tipped fingers and bell-crusted sleeves. The wanderer sighed and pulled away correcting himself mentally. Strike that. Adjust it. There would always be a long road ahead of him tick, tick, ticking, resting now in a hand that was not his own counting down, winding down to what he'd never tell… even to her.
Licking his lips, the wanderer turned to the rope and beckoned the girl toward him. With a gentle whisper, he let his smile slide into a smirk effectively covering his sin and secret. His words fell gently, "Come. Let's get you out of here."
End Act One (^_^) - Calla