[Darkleer's wide frame covers him, like he's standing in the towering shadow of some daunting edifice, and even with how soft that embrace is, he can feel the potential in his muscles. The ability to merely crush him, but through effort and concentration, doesn't. It's how it always is when Darkleer comes to him like this, a huge troll that- is so much smaller in certain ways on the inside. Meek's never been an attribute so a part of any highblood he's ever met, and even with a visage so capable of the serious, Darkleer still manages that meek demeanor effortlessly. If he had been shaking when he hugged him, Summoner wouldn't question it, it would feel natural, like, something of Darkleer's always scared in some manner. But really, that's how everyone is, isn't it?]
[The thought of it makes his chest swell though, and his feet like lead, home at where they currently are an no where else. He can feel his whole body just relax, eyelids low as he tilts his head up, pressed against the great troll's armored chest and shoulder.]
Ah- but this is all I want right now, okay? [Voice quiet, lifting his arms a little, fingers lightly placing themselves on Darkleer's waist. The cold familiar feel of polished black is something he welcomes. Everything about Darkleer always feels chill, a collected cool in comparison to the nervous featherbeast that seems to reside inside his chest at all times. It'd be so nice if he could extend his commune to it, know exactly what to say to him, to calm him down, but he really doesn't. What can he say to someone that wants to be only his, knowing he's not? It's silly. All his life, Lysunder's always thought of himself as everyone, but like this, it almost feels contradictory to his nature.]
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[The thought of it makes his chest swell though, and his feet like lead, home at where they currently are an no where else. He can feel his whole body just relax, eyelids low as he tilts his head up, pressed against the great troll's armored chest and shoulder.]
Ah- but this is all I want right now, okay? [Voice quiet, lifting his arms a little, fingers lightly placing themselves on Darkleer's waist. The cold familiar feel of polished black is something he welcomes. Everything about Darkleer always feels chill, a collected cool in comparison to the nervous featherbeast that seems to reside inside his chest at all times. It'd be so nice if he could extend his commune to it, know exactly what to say to him, to calm him down, but he really doesn't. What can he say to someone that wants to be only his, knowing he's not? It's silly. All his life, Lysunder's always thought of himself as everyone, but like this, it almost feels contradictory to his nature.]