Re: Woods: Claire/Daniel
Wrapped up cloak like a child in a towel, Daniel leaned up against the tree, as deep into the shelter of the shadow as he could go. He tried not to move as the burns seemed to form a separate layer of pain on top of his skin and shift as he did, flexing and searing. "Blood has always been the most powerful connection between self and life," Daniel said, unsurprised by her pronouncement. He had seen strange things when drinking from the witch and others of her kind in years past.
Daniel differentiated his intent from his effect and was generally ashamed of both. He couldn't remember if he had told her about what he had done to Destiny, or his strange relationship with Louis and Lin, the past of action and thought muddled together in sun-spotted swirls. Pain and blood were private things. He wasn't sure he wanted Claire to have either, and it was obvious in his silence and restless shifting under the folds of his shelter. He kept the glasses in his hands, out of sight in the material, turning them over and running his fingertips over the ridges of each frame.
He made no reply to her worried pronouncement of defense and lack of judgment, and he was grateful for her kindness and felt sheltered in his disparate state of mind. He went silent for a long, long time, thinking of the days in which everyone wore hats, and the hats he had worn before watching so many tumble from guillotines and the heads of falling soldiers. Past and present blended together, and he had met Lin once in Milan when the city welcomed Napoleon's army, Sam in Paris, the dog in Dublin.
He was not able to sleep, and came out of a fitful half-doze when the sun sank past the edge of the treetops on the horizon.