[ There's so much uncertainty around her right now — not to mention the swell of all that fear in the moment, when she'd been alone, strong and overwhelming, the kind of fear she hadn't felt since arguably the lowest point of her life, a time in her past that she'd do anything to avoid going back to. She doesn't think she can be blamed for reaching out to the closest thing that feels any way familiar, any form of safe — and Bigby, whatever else he can be sometimes, whether that's frustrating or bewildering or unexpectedly charming, has always given her a feeling of safety.
When she all but throws herself into his arms, she's unsteady — wobbly on her feet, her breaths ragged and uneven as she buries down the impulse to start crying — but the longer she lingers in this space, in his space, the more stable she feels again. The ground beneath her feet steadies, or maybe that's just her regaining sensation in her legs again. Each breath she takes is less hitching as she unconsciously draws the scent of him into her lungs, fresh woodsy smell and those godawful cigarettes he insists on smoking.
As she finally raises her head, lashes damp, she isn't looking at him right away, her gaze still fixed at a distant point, but she hasn't fully retreated from his hold yet, regaining her composure while she has the warmth and security of his arms around her. ]
Yes. Yes, I'm — I'm fine. [ Hurriedly, almost self-consciously, she reaches up with a hand to swipe fingers beneath her eyes, retreating by a step or two. A part of her still wants to hover in close, still wants to rely on him for that shielding protection — but she also knows, now that the initial terror has passed, that he'd let very few things in through that door without putting himself in the way first. ]
Before, you told me there were bad things in the woods. [ She remembers that now, remembers their initial conversation when he'd found her, remembers the heavy drape of his jacket across her shoulders, and now she's looking up at him, awareness returning to the present moment. ] Was this... Darkwalker one of them?
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When she all but throws herself into his arms, she's unsteady — wobbly on her feet, her breaths ragged and uneven as she buries down the impulse to start crying — but the longer she lingers in this space, in his space, the more stable she feels again. The ground beneath her feet steadies, or maybe that's just her regaining sensation in her legs again. Each breath she takes is less hitching as she unconsciously draws the scent of him into her lungs, fresh woodsy smell and those godawful cigarettes he insists on smoking.
As she finally raises her head, lashes damp, she isn't looking at him right away, her gaze still fixed at a distant point, but she hasn't fully retreated from his hold yet, regaining her composure while she has the warmth and security of his arms around her. ]
Yes. Yes, I'm — I'm fine. [ Hurriedly, almost self-consciously, she reaches up with a hand to swipe fingers beneath her eyes, retreating by a step or two. A part of her still wants to hover in close, still wants to rely on him for that shielding protection — but she also knows, now that the initial terror has passed, that he'd let very few things in through that door without putting himself in the way first. ]
Before, you told me there were bad things in the woods. [ She remembers that now, remembers their initial conversation when he'd found her, remembers the heavy drape of his jacket across her shoulders, and now she's looking up at him, awareness returning to the present moment. ] Was this... Darkwalker one of them?