Re: May's Cottage: May & Rory
[Beyond the scent of garden and the woods beyond, or perhaps below it, there was a lingering scent around May that could only be defined as old. Not the scent of mothballs and grandmothers, but the scent of unearthed rock and fossils and roots that ran deep. She was hardly the oldest thing in the town, but she tied into something else that carried age along with it. She smelled like the earth itself, deep and huge and overwhelming. But most of the time, it was hidden by people's inability to smell it and the everyday scents that laid over it. And if Rory was only smelling those everyday scents, it was no wonder that he was still off-balance in his estimation of her and his place in her home.
"Rory's room", as it was hardly much else at the moment, had indeed begun to take on the feel and scent of him. A little sharp to her nose when she stepped inside or passed by the door, but May'd allowed it. Or rather, whatever ruled over the both of them and the rest of the world had allowed it. Because...] As soon as you don't need to be here any longer, you won't be. The fact that you still find your way back means that you still need something from me. [She said it over the lip of her mug, expression calm and frank as she delivered that particular tidbit of information. She didn't know what exactly it was that he needed; he hadn't told her, and it hadn't been revealed in their few passing interactions with each other. At first she'd only thought it to be some care and aid when he'd stumbled upon the cottage with his wounded body. But every time he left, he managed to come back. And so, whatever this relationship was, wasn't yet complete.
Her eyes were sharp on him with his question. And she was silent for a long, considering moment before she shook her head and took another sip of her tea.] If I do, and if I tell you, I won't for very long. Will I?