[It doesn't bother zaShunina to be stared at—actually, he might kind of enjoy it. A stare is a thought, and the most important thing is to think, in his thoughtful opinion. What any particular person thinks of him isn't important; only the matter of thought itself. So he doesn't wonder too much after the meaning of her eyes, and the meaning of her eyes in the space between his body and his arms.
But he's terribly tender with the flowers he holds.]
It's not a thing I do. I haven't ever. [He considers this, he considers the things he has eaten, and then he considers, once more, the flowers. Then his hands float gently higher, and set the chain about his own head. Even if he's slate-faced, his action here is almost ginger.
He saw this in a few books, you know.]
Ornamental, [he verifies. Then, he's kind of smiling.] Why did you decide it?
no subject
But he's terribly tender with the flowers he holds.]
It's not a thing I do. I haven't ever. [He considers this, he considers the things he has eaten, and then he considers, once more, the flowers. Then his hands float gently higher, and set the chain about his own head. Even if he's slate-faced, his action here is almost ginger.
He saw this in a few books, you know.]
Ornamental, [he verifies. Then, he's kind of smiling.] Why did you decide it?