He hadn't spoken a word since awakening. Zorya was cautiously sitting near the exit of the tent, watching the flame sparks dance in the air around the foreigner. He didn't move, neither did she. And although the young woman could hardly hide her curiosity, the heavy silence prevailed between them. Zorya doubted the man had noticed her presence. He looked peculiar, different; she had never seen someone like him before. The gypsy girl couldn't describe the foreigner, as a human being. But she didn't lower herself to calling him a 'demon', as most of her people did, either.
The young woman tilted her head slightly to the side; dark curls of hair covered her slim shoulders. The foreigner looked into the lively flames… without noticing them. His gaze appeared fixed, but painfully indifferent. She recalled him moving only once, pulling the sheet tighter around the way too slender looking body. It appeared, he had been starving for a while. Zorya remembered counting the stranger's ribs and spine sections, as she bandaged his wounds. In fact it was surprising to see him being able to sit down on his own. Who was this man? Where did he come from? How long did he spend bleeding on the shore of the river?
The gypsy couldn't tear her eyes from the alien stranger. Fascination and concern, both equally present in her mind. Zorya didn't believe in rumours her people feared. Though even, if the foreigner wasn't even slightly facing her, his eyes made her feel uneasy. They were dark and appeared hollow and empty; no light spark dared to even touch their surface. Who... did this to him?
It is sort of a after-story after this one.. just a scrap though~
Calir (c) me