A sudden intensity burns brightly those amethyst hues that Mordred cherishes so; a reverie Jehanne escapes from, pinning the Knight with the otherworldly brilliance her gaze holds -- and that simper, to send the treasonous one’s heart aflutter.
Her name, exalted in the Saint’s breath, though she hardly perceives it despite such clarity. Her interest is shifted, briefly, to their comrades once more; it isn’t that she is perturbed for their safety, no. Having exorcised the evils that threatened this Singularity, it was but a simple journey back -- ah, perhaps what gives Mordred pause is the notion that her time with the Saint would be purloined if the others were to notice.
Though Jehanne swiftly puts Mordred’s trepidation to rest; it is she that exonerates them from their obligations to their path, and leads them to begin their deviation. A simper of the Knight’s own, roused onto her lips from the action -- her Saint is always full of surprises.
A lilting hum lodges itself in the abyss of her throat, until Jehanne obstructs her step. Searching, searching for answers -- their disport to come to a pause. Mordred inclines her head to meet their noses; amiably does the touch culminate into a nuzzle. “You’ve caught my fancy,” escapes the Knight’s purr -- a rather brazen response, though not erroneous. “And indeed, you are all mine.”
Her head tilts evermore, lips moving to plant whispers; scarcely brushing against the Saint’s own in her speech, “That sliver of woods to your back will provide sufficient cover. We'll meander through it, and-- my wish? I simply wish to know more about Joan of Arc; whatever she wishes to impart with me. If she’s so inclined, in return... I will indulge anything she desires to know of this Knight of the Round.”
Mordred distances herself just enough to create a tiny break in their propinquity; her curiosity betters her, as well, as she desires to gauge the maiden’s reaction with an upward tilt to her lips. “Will you lead the way?”
