Ceiro offered the girl a reassuring smile for her kind words and gentle touch, wishing he could offer more. But at the same time her touch startled him, causing him to stiffen and swallow as his mouth went dry. The worst thing she could have done at that point was touch him, so weak was his resolve not to take her blood. His teeth clenched tightly, as though that was the singular thing in his mind.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0080ff"> “Ma...Marcella… you should go…”</span>he pulled away from her when he finally was certain he could do so without lunging for her instead, taking a deep breath.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0080ff">“And do not confuse my words of desperation for wisdom, chi-- Marcella.”</span>he caught himself, remembering how much she’d hated being called that. She was a woman, someone’s future life mate. But there was a teasing tone to his voice, now that she was further away from him and no longer making that almost electrical contact with him. Were he not half starved and recovering from something that would have surely killed him, he might have thought his reaction to her touch and craving for her blood something else entirely, but as it stood, there was in his mind only one thing it could possibly be.<br/><br/>He could hear her shifting, the sound of her torn skirts moving and rustling as she climbed the rocks to exit through the narrow crack in the rocks that he’d managed to drag himself into the night before. The patter of small pebbles as she reached the surface continued for a short time after her departure, as he felt around behind himself to make sure he wouldn’t be laying back on any sharp rocks.<br/><br/>The sounds of the night were almost foreign to him, as though he’d been so used to them before that he had never paid attention to, things that had long ago faded into the background of his consciousness, only noticed by their absence.  But now, without his sight, and without his connection to the others, these noises were the only thing that permeated his consciousness. The zing-zing-zing of the cicadas joined with the more gentle chirping off other nocturnal insects, punctured by the occasional howl from the wolves that occasionally roamed the woods, or the hoot of an owl. All these sounds he expected to hear. But it was the subtleness of a babbling brook that was so far away he could barely smell it, or the skittering of mice as they scurried home, the hooves of deer as they shifted uneasily, sensing a predator in their midst. These sounds amazed him, even as each one took time to identify, to figure out exactly what he was hearing.  And the smells too, almost mesmerized him. He could identify plants in his garden through scent, but this was so much  more. The inviting smell of the earth slowly faded as he lay unmoving, breathing slowly, deeply. He was a gardener, and loved his craft, his gifts. But this was communing with nature on a level he’d never thought possible. For the first time in a long time, isolated without his powers or sight, he found himself closer to nature than he ever had been before.<br/><br/>He was almost sad when the swishing of fabric interrupted his meditations, as he gently eased himself into a sitting position once more.