The rest of the above chapter.
In his strong arms, I allow myself to be guided across the leafy ground. With my attention equally split between his face and the attention we are receiving from the crowd, I figure this airy movement can frolic me closer to a target whose demise will not be recognized for what it is until it is too late. Although my course has been altered by unplanned enamor, the strategy of attack remains intact due to a timely flexibility I accept with no issue.
The first chance of a precision strike is disrupted by a lucky move on his part as we whirl by him. If I do not reach him with the next rotation, after which the dance will end, I will have to approach him as I had previously planned. Assuming that I am not approached by another expectant dance partner, but at least there is not a pressing time constraint. The target is expected to be in attendance for some hours yet.
"I wasn't supposed to be here tonight," he says as he spins me in a way that requires me to turn and tilt my head.
As I consciously interpret the multiple meanings behind his words, I briefly focus my visual attention on the canopy arced above us. This place is likely favored from other ruins because it is the single location where the sky is not visible. Not that anything is up there worth viewing, which most people find disturbing.
When my gaze lowers itself back to him and the dainty fuzz above an upper lip, he explains, "Mother dragged me here, and she's currently scrutinizing us. I fear at this point she's expecting me to simultaneously marry and impregnate a woman right here on the dance floor."
A short burst resembling something akin to a laugh escapes my mouth. He appears pleased by my response. Knowing the gender quite well, any other woman would have been appalled. And knowing the woman whose appearance I borrowed, especially that she could not be here tonight, I am aware that she considers herself to be quite the stereotypical representation of the feminine.
"I could tell you were different," he says with a twinkle in his eye.
Continuing to smile outwardly, my mind focuses on an inner grimace. If this charismatic young man ever encounters the real woman I am impersonating, he will be awkwardly disappointed by her. Unfortunately, certain social aspects of the job cannot be avoided.
With a hand already there, I give a friendly squeeze to his shoulder. "And it's okay for you to be you."
He stares at me without blinking, and he does not say anything. With some of my attention on him and the obvious thoughts being processed in his mind, the task before me requires marginally more than just some of my attention. And this time I am aiming to strike as needed for success.
A distinctive color associated with him due to his rank in society enters into my peripheral. As pristine as white is in appearance, the symbolism of its purity does not translate over to this particular individual adorned in it. And with it not being my favorite color, I like to imagine the elves once wore it better as their signature.
The speed at which we move during this rotation, I am primed to be in the perfect position to stealthily strike. Although this time my reach improves due to having the target directly behind me.
With only moments to spare, I say, "I apologize if I misspoke. Sometimes I get ahead of myself."
As predicted, he performs a slow enough blink while preparing himself to verbally put me at ease. The short period his eyes are closed is enough time for my tail to unfurl itself from beneath a hoop skirt and strike the target behind me. Piercing the flesh elicits from me a sigh of gratification that remains unheard by inferior hearing.
In his strong arms, I allow myself to be guided across the leafy ground. With my attention equally split between his face and the attention we are receiving from the crowd, I figure this airy movement can frolic me closer to a target whose demise will not be recognized for what it is until it is too late. Although my course has been altered by unplanned enamor, the strategy of attack remains intact due to a timely flexibility I accept with no issue.
The first chance of a precision strike is disrupted by a lucky move on his part as we whirl by him. If I do not reach him with the next rotation, after which the dance will end, I will have to approach him as I had previously planned. Assuming that I am not approached by another expectant dance partner, but at least there is not a pressing time constraint. The target is expected to be in attendance for some hours yet.
"I wasn't supposed to be here tonight," he says as he spins me in a way that requires me to turn and tilt my head.
As I consciously interpret the multiple meanings behind his words, I briefly focus my visual attention on the canopy arced above us. This place is likely favored from other ruins because it is the single location where the sky is not visible. Not that anything is up there worth viewing, which most people find disturbing.
When my gaze lowers itself back to him and the dainty fuzz above an upper lip, he explains, "Mother dragged me here, and she's currently scrutinizing us. I fear at this point she's expecting me to simultaneously marry and impregnate a woman right here on the dance floor."
A short burst resembling something akin to a laugh escapes my mouth. He appears pleased by my response. Knowing the gender quite well, any other woman would have been appalled. And knowing the woman whose appearance I borrowed, especially that she could not be here tonight, I am aware that she considers herself to be quite the stereotypical representation of the feminine.
"I could tell you were different," he says with a twinkle in his eye.
Continuing to smile outwardly, my mind focuses on an inner grimace. If this charismatic young man ever encounters the real woman I am impersonating, he will be awkwardly disappointed by her. Unfortunately, certain social aspects of the job cannot be avoided.
With a hand already there, I give a friendly squeeze to his shoulder. "And it's okay for you to be you."
He stares at me without blinking, and he does not say anything. With some of my attention on him and the obvious thoughts being processed in his mind, the task before me requires marginally more than just some of my attention. And this time I am aiming to strike as needed for success.
A distinctive color associated with him due to his rank in society enters into my peripheral. As pristine as white is in appearance, the symbolism of its purity does not translate over to this particular individual adorned in it. And with it not being my favorite color, I like to imagine the elves once wore it better as their signature.
The speed at which we move during this rotation, I am primed to be in the perfect position to stealthily strike. Although this time my reach improves due to having the target directly behind me.
With only moments to spare, I say, "I apologize if I misspoke. Sometimes I get ahead of myself."
As predicted, he performs a slow enough blink while preparing himself to verbally put me at ease. The short period his eyes are closed is enough time for my tail to unfurl itself from beneath a hoop skirt and strike the target behind me. Piercing the flesh elicits from me a sigh of gratification that remains unheard by inferior hearing.
"Never trust a fox. Looks like a dog, behaves like a cat."
~ Erin Hunter
~ Erin Hunter