[ Fluid semblances of shadowy fingers close around Dimitri's hand, and oddly he will find that the shadow's touch truly is nothing to fear. It's warm. A comfort.
A friend.
The same feeling that presumably lives in the back of Oz's mind. The shadow has the capability to be his fury, his anger and sadness and resentment made manifest in a way that begs Oz to pay attention to his own feelings, but here in the dream, there is no cause for such fiery emotions. Only gentle warmth.
Those pinpricks of light angle, the shade canting its head in response to the prince's greeting, but it does not speak. Perhaps it doesn't know how to outside of Oz's own thoughts. Perhaps it's a moment, perhaps it's a lifetime, but eventually the shadow withdraws its hand, sliding back into Oz's being with a bow of its head. ]
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A friend.
The same feeling that presumably lives in the back of Oz's mind. The shadow has the capability to be his fury, his anger and sadness and resentment made manifest in a way that begs Oz to pay attention to his own feelings, but here in the dream, there is no cause for such fiery emotions. Only gentle warmth.
Those pinpricks of light angle, the shade canting its head in response to the prince's greeting, but it does not speak. Perhaps it doesn't know how to outside of Oz's own thoughts. Perhaps it's a moment, perhaps it's a lifetime, but eventually the shadow withdraws its hand, sliding back into Oz's being with a bow of its head. ]
... I think he likes you.