[Though he feels her gaze settle on him briefly he keeps his head down and his lips pressed thin, listening. Smells drifting from the box close the distance, the savoury, earthy scent of the stew with the sharp note of rosemary stirring memories of his dirt-crusted fingernails and sackfuls of herbs and forest mushrooms passed between them. Memories of how they’d smiled and laughed as if they had been more than strangers and he has sat her table knowing that, no matter how dark the day and who he had left to count on, he could always find her and find peace for a moment. But now -- now all she is is someone who knows too much and in a way he’s more than uncomfortable with.
It’s the Malnosso’s doing, not hers. But the negative association is a difficult one to shake.]
Ok, ok. Hatch WHO?
It’s the Malnosso’s doing, not hers. But the negative association is a difficult one to shake.]