With every second that passed, Astarion watched the little healer fall further and further behind the others. He clucked his tongue in disapproval. It was a dark day when he was the voice of compassion, and yet, here he stood. The others seemed to have either learned nothing of keeping a slower pace to allow for her to stay within their eyeline, or they had simply decided to relinquish the healer to his care, assuming that he would keep her from harm. Which he would, of course. Ordinarily, he would have found himself quite put out at the expectation of assumed responsibility, however, to his pleasant surprise, in this instance, he found he held no resentment. In fact, he was rather glad to have her all to himself, as she was interesting to watch, and Astarion hated nothing more than sharing. She was a delightful creature, and Astarion found himself growing quite fond of her, even having had such a brief acquaintance. He had cultivated within himself a certain scale onto which every person fell. It helped him to categorize them, to better cater to their needs, wants, and desires. For the purpose of manipulating and luring them to their doom. It was a skill that made his work, if it could be called such, infinitely easier. It allowed him to detach himself to a certain degree and play the role set out for him with resounding success time after time for hundreds of years. This sweet creature before him fell onto the side of the spectrum which he loathed to pull victims from. She was good. Undeniable good, her goodness sprung forth from her undeniably noble spirit and was apparent in her every aspect. He could see it in the way she walked, avoiding crushing the flowers beneath her, even if it meant stepping upon rocks instead. He could hear it in her voice, which she used to address him with consideration and respect, despite her evident fear. Yes, Hestra the Healer was good. From where he stood several paces behind her, he could see her goodness in every emotion as she experienced them. She was very forthcoming with her emotions. She could conceal nothing, much unlike himself, who had spent centuries concealing his emotions and playing acting role after role, Astarion found her honest expressions equal parts refreshing and entertaining. Yes, she was very interesting indeed. Astarion was smiled smugly, yes, let her go unnoticed by the others. He would keep her all to himself.
Astarion pushed back a branch before it could strike her, and she jumped at his sudden closeness. He chuckled as he watched her compose herself. "I won't bite you unless you ask." he chuckled. "Really?" came her retort. " I'm sure the vast majority of those you've bitten asked politely." Astarion grinned. He appreciated her wit. "Some even begged." Even in the growing darkness, he could see her shoulders shudder at the thought.
In the fastly approaching darkness, the little healer was finding it increasingly more difficult to keep her footing. Astarion took her by the hand to lead her through the darkness, taking great care to keep his pace at a level speed even she could follow. Her skin was warm, and decidedly delightful. No matter how distasteful or degrading the situation he found himself in, he was always quite astonished at how warm the bodies of his non-vampiric counterparts could be. She yawned into the night, and Astarion grew concerned that she might fall asleep on her feet. The poor little thing. "Here, little darling, I have an idea." He said, without an explanation, as he scooped her into his arms. She sputtered a protest, which Astarion simply did not entertain. "Do you, or do you not want to get to camp?" He asked. She responded with silence, and that was the only response that he needed. He made quick work of the trail, and within minutes they were within eyesight of the roaring fire the others had lit as they made camp just a ways ahead of them. "See?" He gloated. "Look at that-oh." Astarion's attempt at gloating had been cut short as he looked down into his arms, only to realize the little healer who lay there had fallen asleep. Really, for all her obvious distrust, she surrendered her consciousness almost immediately. Her mind may not trust him, but her body did. She clung to him in her sleep, burying her head into his shoulder, the top of her head resting against his neck. Had she been a kitten, she would purr against his chest, the darling little thing. Astarion attempted to lay her down carefully onto a mat, but she clung to him in her sleep. He enjoyed her warmth and closeness, so he allowed her to continue sleeping. He could see no harm in it, she was already asleep after all, and to rouse her would only deprive him of her company. So Astarion carried her to his own mat, and sat. Contenting himself with the sight of her sleeping form, it really ought to be forbidden to be so sweet-faced. She was ruddy as an apple in the cheeks from the exercises, and Astarion found he was tempted to bite her, if only to test his theory that she tasted as sweet as she looked.
When she woke, her hands flew to her neck, as though she thought that he lacked the restraint to keep his fangs from her neck for the few moments she slept. It would almost have been hurtful if it wasn't true. Astarion chuckled. "Really? We've been over this, not unless you ask." She sputtered and turned red with embarrassment over what exactly he was unsure. She then crawled to her own bedroll and laid down. He watched her even then; he couldn't help himself. She was simply interesting to watch.
