The girl takes a step back from them, grimacing at the shirt that Bahorel holds out to her, staring at it in obvious distaste. She doesn't reply to either Combeferre or Bahorel, but she doesn't run, either.
"Hi there." Courfeyrac smiles at the child, taking a step toward her. He tries switching into Spanish, hoping that maybe she'll understand that. "Are you from around here? Who are you?"
Tossing her head, setting the tiny silver bell in her hair to chiming again, the girl stares at him, mouth pursed as though she's bitten into something bitter. She spits out a string of words in a language that Courfeyrac definitely doesn't understand, her voice deeper than he expected but also strangely melodic. The wind picks up, stirring the trees around them, and there's something of that sound in her voice, too, a gentle undercurrent that mimics the quiet rustling of the forest.
"Sorry." Courfeyrac shrugs. "I don't speak that language."
The girl rolls her eyes, turning away in frustration.
Something bites at Courfeyrac's neck, a sharp, stinging pain, and he swats at the offending insect.
He doesn't know if he gets the mosquito, but a tiny firefly drifts away from him and toward the child. It lands on her arm, and she turns to look at it, her expression changing to one of amusement and, eventually, serenity. The firefly takes off, and she turns back to them, smiling widely, displaying small, perfect white teeth. Tilting her head to the side, causing the bell to ring once more, she takes a small step toward Courfeyrac and speaks in quiet, stilted French. "Where are you going?"
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branchandroot
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Date: 2013-05-19 01:37 am (UTC)"Hi there." Courfeyrac smiles at the child, taking a step toward her. He tries switching into Spanish, hoping that maybe she'll understand that. "Are you from around here? Who are you?"
Tossing her head, setting the tiny silver bell in her hair to chiming again, the girl stares at him, mouth pursed as though she's bitten into something bitter. She spits out a string of words in a language that Courfeyrac definitely doesn't understand, her voice deeper than he expected but also strangely melodic. The wind picks up, stirring the trees around them, and there's something of that sound in her voice, too, a gentle undercurrent that mimics the quiet rustling of the forest.
"Sorry." Courfeyrac shrugs. "I don't speak that language."
The girl rolls her eyes, turning away in frustration.
Something bites at Courfeyrac's neck, a sharp, stinging pain, and he swats at the offending insect.
He doesn't know if he gets the mosquito, but a tiny firefly drifts away from him and toward the child. It lands on her arm, and she turns to look at it, her expression changing to one of amusement and, eventually, serenity. The firefly takes off, and she turns back to them, smiling widely, displaying small, perfect white teeth. Tilting her head to the side, causing the bell to ring once more, she takes a small step toward Courfeyrac and speaks in quiet, stilted French. "Where are you going?"