amaurotic;

'It's meant to help with the pain,' Rynn replied in a poor attempt to soothe her. 'It's cold, but it'll feel better later.' I guess. As his unexpected guest sat at the small dining table, Rynn moved and sat on the couch. He knew he wouldn't want a stranger sitting so close to him, and he had overheard women speaking of their own caution of strange men. He did not want to appear to be a threat to her - that was, so long as she was not a threat to him. 'Are you all right?' Too much of an open ended question. He didn't particularly want to get pulled into a conversation, but if it helped her feel more at ease...

At least she wasn't using this as an opportunity to talk his ear off. Humans seemed to think it was a feminine trait to talk and talk and talk. When you preferred to be left in silence, you could find that men spoke just as much as women. 'What do you need?' he asked, though he was partially wondering aloud. Ice. That seemed to be something people used after an injury. With complete ease, Rynn navigated to the fridge. He opened the freezer compartment and felt about for some ice. After locating the cubes of frozen water, he placed them in a bag and handed them to the woman. 'Here,' he said. 'For your ankle.' No, he genuinely did not realise that they should be wrapped up in a towel, too. He wasn't exactly in the business of injuring himself. When he did, the injuries tended to heal fast enough without intervention.

Once she was up and well supported, her arm about his shoulders and his own arm beneath hers, he began towards the door. As he reached for the handle, he said, 'I don't know much about first aid.' Not that he would be a particularly good person to be volunteering to render such aid, anyway. 'Even less so when it comes to wings.' Yes, that was his attempt at a jest. He didn't expect it to land. Rynn opened the door and helped her inside. He supposed calling an ambulance wouldn't be of particular use, either, if a torn wing was part of the issue.

Rynn clicked his fingers. The woods - what little view of it he had - seemed clear. Save the wildlife, they appeared to be the only two here. And why would a human pretend to have wings? That would be ridiculous, either for them. So either this woman was a little crazy, or... He bent down. 'Can you stand if I help you?'

Hurt seemed to be an understatement, if she was telling the truth. Simply being hurt didn't involve crawling along the ground. She was either faking it (he hadn't cast the doubt from his mind yet) or she was injured more than she was letting on. 'Where are you hurt?'

He was not home; however, he was not far away. He had not noticed anyone approaching. Though his hearing was keen even for one of his kind, he had not heard the sound of someone crawling through the grass distinct from any other creature in the woods, and it was the deer with whom he had busied himself, stroking his hand down her neck, who reacted first, raising her head at the disturbance. Rynn clicked his tongue. Indeed, there was someone there, in the clearing by his home, behind him. But unlike most humans, this person seemed to have something sprouting from her back. Wings? Rynn sighed. He turned away from the deer and approached the stranger, careful to keep his distance, remaining alert. It could still be a trap. 'What are you doing here?' he asked, not even attempting to feign eye contact as his supposed gaze remained straight ahead.

'Mhm.' Rynn didn't drink all too often at all. It messed with his sense and made navigation more difficult than it needed to be. It was only in a private setting, such as they were in currently, were little movement was required that Rynn dared to indulge. It seemed, however, that he had allowed himself a little more to drink than he perhaps should have. He kissed Sun again as was her desire, as was his desire, pulling back only a little. 'Are you going to ask for a third?'

The silence extended between them for but a moment too long. 'I know how that feels.' To be the only one, to have no one to share in your experiences, nor people who could not even attempt to relate. 'But I do not call myself lonely. 'You came from outside,' he continued. 'Where the humans are. Do you walk amongst them, perhaps as one of them or, if not' - for she was still much too bright in a way humans weren't - 'without scathing judgment?'

He shrugged, nothing more than a small motion. 'What is it like to be' - what had she called herself? - 'angel-kin compared to anything else which walks the earth? I cannot answer your question; I have never known what it is to be anything else.' The deer walked away then but remained nearby, grazing on flora. Frankly, he didn't care much to answer her question. He was not used to being asked question after question, nor being asked such highly personal questions, such as are you lonely? In honesty, he was. 'I won't ask you to leave,' was what he settled on.

He sat there for a moment after the song had finished, absorbing it all, allowing himself a little longer to reminisce in the sound of her song - at least, that had been his plan. Instead, Ciaccona spoke to him, fingers upon his jaw and his head being turned in her direction, and an unexpected kiss placed upon his lips. 'I love you, too,' he mumbled, but not because the words were genuine; it was still a bit of a difficult thing for him, and such tender feelings were a little harder for him than it may have been for others of their kind. He returned the kiss in earnest, though, allowing his actions to speak for him. 'Your song was beautiful, just as you are.'

He did not turn his gaze to her direction, but there was no need to. As Ciaconna played, music flowed to his ears and, with it, the sense of sight, or what it was to him. Suddenly, the blank slate which he was given of the world was filled. The room flared into existence, every curve of every wall and piece of furniture known to him but, more importantly, her. She was not one moving image but rather multiple snapshots in time: little movements of her fingers and her lips as she played her lute and sung her song, subtle little things which showed him she was alive, she was real, and she was as beautiful as her song.

It had hit him just like that. A loss of time, of place, and regression to a time he never hoped to revisit. It's my blood. The scar which extended up to his jaw ached, but not quite like when the blade had cut into his skin. His breathing picked up, his hands trembled. And there was this voice, someone speaking to him. Familiar but unfamiliar; he had heard it only moments ago, in greeting. Someone who wanted to help. Someone who wasn't an enemy? It seemed unlikely, but fuck it, he needed anything he could get. 'Yes,' he replied, voice soft, cracking with that one word, 'I... I am.'