What he says sounds really, really tempting. Tempting to reveal herself. To, perhaps, try and have an intelligible conversation during which she doesn't have to be afraid of her not being human - not looking even close to it anymore - being discovered. To perhaps... no, she won't go as far as thinking about making friends, because she has long come to the conclusion that she can't make true friends, only friends of convenience or joined needs and goals. But someone to talk to without fear would be wonderful already.
The problem is that there is a caveat in his words, something that makes her doubt. I won't hurt any living thing. She isn't strictly living anymore, hasn't been strictly alive for over two decades now. Does not being completely dead count as living?
She can't make up her mind, so she just sits there and stares up at him for some time longer, torn between revealing herself (somewhere else. Certainly not out here in the open) and continuing to pretend that she is just a fox.
Eventually, she cautiously moves forward and bumps her snout against his knee, hesitantly. She doesn't know what to do, but she doesn't want him to leave, either.
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The problem is that there is a caveat in his words, something that makes her doubt. I won't hurt any living thing. She isn't strictly living anymore, hasn't been strictly alive for over two decades now. Does not being completely dead count as living?
She can't make up her mind, so she just sits there and stares up at him for some time longer, torn between revealing herself (somewhere else. Certainly not out here in the open) and continuing to pretend that she is just a fox.
Eventually, she cautiously moves forward and bumps her snout against his knee, hesitantly. She doesn't know what to do, but she doesn't want him to leave, either.