The burial of the blade had been sobering, somber, and Levani had felt the loss as palpably as if she had been struck by the storm of it herself. It had been broken moments that she’d wished to have reached out, to pull the comfort from her soul and weave it about him, but she knew that she harbored no such words that could convey her sympathies, just as when Kallo had discovered the pendant on the wretched man’s corpse. Her empathy only manifested by her patience, her silence, and after he had returned, his words were formed with a discernible sorrow, though he took the time to explain to her the blade’s significance nonetheless. It had only made sense that it too was connected to his brother, an unmistakable piece of him, an irreparable pain that haunted his steps, his days. Though she did not understand Kallo and his people’s customs on broken weapons, she was apt to hold her peace, finding the poetry in the sword’s eternal rest, and she accepted the strange difference. She only wondered, minding not to stare at the grave, if it would be ill to offer him a new weapon when the wound was so raw, so she pushed it aside for a more appropriate time.<br/><br/>The nakedness of Kallo’s admission that followed, as though he was the one with something to admit, that he knew she was hiding something, was almost painful, but it had been some time coming. During his acknowledgement of the secret that lodged between them, the truth of who and what she truly was, Levani found her gaze in her cup, the buzz of the berries humming in her head. She had played the careful game of bordering dishonesty, never taking it as a partner, but never being as open, as bare, as he was. Something agonized her for it - guilt, she believed that it was called, though it was a terrible stranger that she had never invited, never courted for sake of always being alone. Deep within, she wished to show him, for her true form was beautiful. The tribes had known her first in her fur, and she was sacred to many. She was a divinity to some, a revered hunter to others. She had represented the balance of Asdenni, the life of it, and when she had been given human flesh, she had stood as its soul. Some, however, knew the reason why, and they had seen what had become of her body. Some elders vowed to take the revelation to their graves, others simply looked upon her with fear, with suspicion, with a wariness that bespoke of their mistrust. They did not have faith in her strength, in her will, in the Watchers’ gift to her. But what would Kallo feel? What would he see, if he saw her? If he knew?<br/><br/>Golden eyes flicked to his icy ones at the mention of being consumed by darkness, and cold shards of fear, of uncertainty, pierced into her heart. She was not consumed yet, but she feared she was slowly being devoured. Attention was turned back to her drink and she quickly downed it, warmth flourishing her chest, physical pleasantry radiating through her body. What followed were strange words, however, odd notions. To be cared for - so simple, but so heartfelt, that it dug into her chest. Perhaps for she felt the same, and for it, she worried.<br/><br/>Levani’s gaze returned to him as Kallo removed his shirt, baring to her the lines of his musculature, dappled with deep bruises of lavender that permeated across his chest. There was no doubt in her mind that they hurt, probably more than the man would let off, or more than he would deign to notice. They were plentiful, profuse across his flesh, and she had the sudden desire to reach out and run her hand softly along them, as though to ease them. His gentle demand for her to remove her armor pulled her from her trance. A derisive snort, a shake of her head to accent the humored sound. “No need to mother me,<i>sul’ima</i>,” she admonished. “They are but shallow cuts from the creature’s skin. I am more concerned with the flesh beneath.” She gingerly rubbed her own tender muscles, mostly on the left side where she had been struck, though the right were just as strained, expressing their complaints at every movement with aching jolts. Despite her protestation, she began undoing her cloak, the buckles of her attire, loosing straps and fastens until the leather piece was peeled from her skin.<br/><br/>Beneath was only an artfully designed piece of black, worn silks that carefully bound and cupped her breasts, supporting the soft curve of them, and the plethora of leather corded necklaces that draped from her neck. The swell of her curves and her belly were gentle, but no less strong, and the markings that overtook most of her back could be seen curving in to line against her hipbones before they descended beneath her breeches. With only a few winces and grit teeth, Levani leaned forward to undo the laces of her boots, slowly realizing that she was very much looking forward to having the damn things off, to feel her toes in the grass, in the mud of the brook. The delight of it brought something else to mind. “You said something to me before you….” A pause, as though something had caught her tongue, lodged the word in her throat, but she did not understand why. It was something that humans did, as much of their expression as speaking - it was not unnatural, so why did the memory of it hold so much power? “Before you kissed me,” she finished, pushing away the perturbation. “What did it mean?” She questioned, looking to him with curiosity coloring her face.<br/><br/>Once they were off, she sighed with relief, leaning her head back against the hillock for a moment, mind swimming, active. “There is a brook behind the hill that we may clean up in, though you may have to drag me to my feet,” she noted after gesturing in the direction, laughing at the stubbornness of her body.