Even as she was speaking, it occurred to Ardan that her new husband might not understand what she was saying, or indeed even be able to hear her. And for several moments afterwards it seemed that her fears were correct: he made no response whatsoever. She was not certain how to proceed next - when, quite suddenly, the glowing orange eyes tilted like a person cocking his head. Ardan stared back, her fear now tinged with surprise: she had not expected her husband to do anything so human. She bit her lip, waiting for him to do something else, for him to examine her or tell her to come closer. But he seemed in no hurry: for long moments he simply stayed where he was, dark and enormous and otherworldly - but benign.
As the seconds lengthened she felt her muscles begin to relax, the straining in her arms and her legs and her abdomen to react giving way by degrees. She had not yet followed her instinct to run; her body was growing tired of waiting. Slowly she felt her stomach begin to relax, her shoulders to loosen, her jaw to unclench. Her heart still beat fast with anxiety, but her weary body was allowing her to let her guard down. She took deep, slow breaths, in through the nose and out through the mouth, to settle her skittish nerves.
And then the mass of shadow moved forward: she nearly jumped backwards in fright. She clamped her teeth together to stifle a gasp; her heart was hammering against her ribs like a bird caught in a trap. Another ribbon of black shadow extended outward and she stumbled backwards with a muffled cry. The shadow thickened and darkened, its blackness now looking almost solid, like a clawing hand. Her back hit the enormous door behind her. Her stomach flipped in panic: she was trapped with the attacking...
But - no. Her husband was not attacking, she realized. The long limb, while solid and lithe as a snake, was no longer moving toward her. It was immobile, hovering in the air between them, outstretched like a friend's hand. A strange, unpredictable friend made of shadow and unknowable power, she reminded herself. And yet, it was not moving to attack her. It was clear what it wanted.
With a shaking breath, with her heart in her throat, she took a step forward. Then another. Would the shadowy tendril before her touch her? Would it be insubstantial as smoke? Or would it be solid, like the wet skin of a frog or the smooth, dry skin of a snake? Would it feel like the skin of a human, or be icy cold? She took another step, watching the bright orange eyes. She raised a hand, stretched out her fingers - touched the preferred arm of her husband, wherever he may lead her.
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As the seconds lengthened she felt her muscles begin to relax, the straining in her arms and her legs and her abdomen to react giving way by degrees. She had not yet followed her instinct to run; her body was growing tired of waiting. Slowly she felt her stomach begin to relax, her shoulders to loosen, her jaw to unclench. Her heart still beat fast with anxiety, but her weary body was allowing her to let her guard down. She took deep, slow breaths, in through the nose and out through the mouth, to settle her skittish nerves.
And then the mass of shadow moved forward: she nearly jumped backwards in fright. She clamped her teeth together to stifle a gasp; her heart was hammering against her ribs like a bird caught in a trap. Another ribbon of black shadow extended outward and she stumbled backwards with a muffled cry. The shadow thickened and darkened, its blackness now looking almost solid, like a clawing hand. Her back hit the enormous door behind her. Her stomach flipped in panic: she was trapped with the attacking...
But - no. Her husband was not attacking, she realized. The long limb, while solid and lithe as a snake, was no longer moving toward her. It was immobile, hovering in the air between them, outstretched like a friend's hand. A strange, unpredictable friend made of shadow and unknowable power, she reminded herself. And yet, it was not moving to attack her. It was clear what it wanted.
With a shaking breath, with her heart in her throat, she took a step forward. Then another. Would the shadowy tendril before her touch her? Would it be insubstantial as smoke? Or would it be solid, like the wet skin of a frog or the smooth, dry skin of a snake? Would it feel like the skin of a human, or be icy cold? She took another step, watching the bright orange eyes. She raised a hand, stretched out her fingers - touched the preferred arm of her husband, wherever he may lead her.