[The way the stranger drops to the moss, like a puppet with her strings cut, hooded and painted and wary – it gets a very toothy smile from Alia, her eyes intent and unblinking, oddly far-set, her hair as fine and light as cornsilk. She shifts a little, looks the stranger over in her fullness, seems to come to some sort of conclusion.]
I do not. [A concession; perhaps she had, before, but not now. Now she welcomes the company, stretching out to her full length on the moss like a cat, bare legs, bare arms, bare face beneath the sun’s rays. The other girl gets a curious headtilt, and Alia gently flicks a heavy-headed clover so it’s purplish petals spill over onto the hem of the stranger’s cloak.] Who are you, then? Newcomer, traveler, guest to our shores?
[Then, reproachfully, she rolls to her side and props her cheek up on one hand.] You’re tired. Ought to be asleep and dreaming, perhaps. [She knows this because she Knows, because the study of body language and mental presence is one she was born knowing. And because this stranger reminds her a bit of Paul, early in the mornings, sleepy-eyed and grumbly.] Yet here we sit.
no subject
I do not. [A concession; perhaps she had, before, but not now. Now she welcomes the company, stretching out to her full length on the moss like a cat, bare legs, bare arms, bare face beneath the sun’s rays. The other girl gets a curious headtilt, and Alia gently flicks a heavy-headed clover so it’s purplish petals spill over onto the hem of the stranger’s cloak.] Who are you, then? Newcomer, traveler, guest to our shores?
[Then, reproachfully, she rolls to her side and props her cheek up on one hand.] You’re tired. Ought to be asleep and dreaming, perhaps. [She knows this because she Knows, because the study of body language and mental presence is one she was born knowing. And because this stranger reminds her a bit of Paul, early in the mornings, sleepy-eyed and grumbly.] Yet here we sit.