“Isn’t that a good thing?” she laughed, fidgeting and rubbing her elbow.
As much as he liked her smiles, and that they mostly appeared genuine, he shook his head. “Sometimes they are lies. When you think I am not looking, that is the only time I am truly seeing you. Yet, you do not show me this side willingly.”
Day had brightened the world six times since she freed him, and he knew nothing more about this creature than he did that first night.
“It’s not like you’ve asked me anything.”
When her hair lifted and waved due to a light gust, Ingram stared raptly at the long strands. He brushed his claws and fingers down them, touching them, and found they were even softer than he’d imagined. They were silky, even as they caught on the rough callouses of his hands.
“I do not know how to start this with you,” Ingram admitted. Yellow brightened his orbs at being allowed to play freely with her pretty hair; especially after so many days from when he’d first callously yanked it. “I have never had a human companion before.”
She let out a deep, long breath, and her shoulders became less rigid. “Well... what do you want to know then? I’ll try my best to answer you.”
That sounded like she was intending to hide things from him.
The desire to trap her to him gripped him like a set of claws around his throat. Ingram fisted the long strands and leaned forward to tower over her. His growl was a warning for her not to hide things, but also in anticipation of discovering all about Emerie.
“Everything,” he rumbled. “I want to know everything.”
Ingram would start by learning all of this little female. Like him and Aleron, he wanted them to share everything. Their thoughts, their touch, their hearts. In doing so, maybe she could fill the yawning hole in his chest he was desperate to be rid of.
At least... until Aleron was returned and made him whole once more.
“M-maybe you should change back,” Emerie suggested through clenched teeth.
Pushing up on Ingram’s chest, her hands cupping hard exposed bone, she used all her might to keep him upright so he didn’t fall. At least, until he was able to support himself again. She kept her hands out, ready to catch him – which was probably a stupid idea.
This is how I turn myself into a Duskwalker-flattened Emerie pancake.
“No. I want to do this, to walk like you and the other humans,” Ingram argued.
Why does he always argue with me?! She mentally threw her hands up.
He made it a few steps before he stumbled, but it was at least further than the last attempt. It was like his knees wanted to give out after too long, or his equilibrium was off.
Fucking hell. It’s like walking with a drunk.
A drunk that was seven and a half feet tall and would probably kill her if he landed on top of her. A drunk that didn’t want to listen, who she was forced to chase after.
Then again, he was getting better the longer he tried.
At least he’s not pestering me with questions. Or, more importantly, trying to get her to talk about herself.
She wasn’t against revealing her past because he was a Duskwalker. She didn’t mind what he was, and she’d grown to trust him and his big claws a long time ago.
I just don’t want to burden him, she thought, steadying him for only a second before he strode forward.
Emerie doubted any human had pleasant stories. Almost everyone she’d ever spoken to at the guild had some dark past, some worse than hers, many not. It’s why most people joined in the first place.
It was hard to hide how terrible her life had been when it was so easily seen on her face. The fact that Ingram hadn’t asked her about it, when most humans liked to ask her what had caused her scarring, was a relief.
She didn’t want to talk about that night.
A night that had left her not only disfigured, but also startlingly alone in this big world filled with sharp teeth.
Sharing any part of her life would, undoubtably, force her to talk about her worst memories. It was impossible to skirt around them.
Just as it was impossible to forget them.
She wished she could. She wished she could bury them deep within the recesses of her mind and pretend they didn’t exist. She couldn’t, not when they painted a story on her face she was forced to read every time she saw her own reflection in a mirror, or the bottom of a cup.
They haunted her wherever she went, and not even sleep could give her peace since they lingered in her dreams.
It didn’t help that whenever she told most people, their expressions would turn sympathetic.
Then they would spout nonsense. “I’m sorry for your loss, Emerie.” Or, “I’m so sorry you had to suffer through that.”
Their apologies were pointless. They didn’t change anything. They didn’t do anything to lessen her burdens, instead only worsening them.
Their pity made her feel weak, small, feeble.
She didn’t need the Duskwalker making her feel that way. Not when he had his own wounds to heal.
What if sharing her story only made his harder to swallow?
As Ingram finally walked on his own, yellow lifting into his orbs like a beacon of joy, she gave him a commiserating smile.
We are so alike. Our pasts are filled with loss and pain. The difference was: she’d had plenty of time to deal with it. She’d bandaged her wounds and just treated her infection when the symptoms of it flared.
Ingram was still bleeding.
On the battlefield, she wouldn’t check her infection when her comrades were bleeding out. She wouldn’t show them her older wound when they had a fresh one in their stomach.
Yet... it was obvious her lack of sharing was bothering him.
Maybe I could give him a watered-down version of it?
And, since he was managing to walk on his own, flaring a small amount of pride in her, she might as well spill it now.
“Okay. Since you wanted to know about me,” Emerie started, staring at the darkening horizon with the sun dropping behind them, “maybe I should start with when I was a child?”
When he tilted his head at her, she worried he wouldn’t comprehend a lot of it.
“I grew up in the southlands. There’s a town right near the border on the eastern side called Fishket. It’s not too far from the sea.”
“Is the southlands where that wall of tree trunks is?”
“Yep, exactly right. There’s a big wall of log spikes humans have built to keep most of the Demons out, but towns and villages still have their own for additional protection.” Emerie placed her hands behind her to clasp them, trying to appear as carefree as possible. “I lived there for most of my life. My parents were really good people who lived well in comparison to most. Because of this, they tried to share what they could with those who weren’t well off. They were highly respected within the town, so a lot of people flocked to them. I had a lot of friends when I was younger, since there were many children my own age.”
“Friends?” he asked.
“Like a companion, but many of them.”