Page 10 of Horned to be Wild
“Yes. The statue will be fine.”
He set the piece aside and she wondered if she should get up, if this was her cue to leave, even though she didn’t want to. But he turned back to her, holding out a small piece of sandpaper, and her heart skipped a beat.
“Now what?” she asked.
“We can start on the stag’s antlers. I never quite finished him.” He hesitated, then said, “If you want to stay.”
“Oh, yes,” she said quickly. “I’d like that.”
He gave her a quick nod, and she thought she saw a flash of relief in those dark amber eyes. They spent a comfortable hour together, working on the stag. When she was done smoothing the antlers, she traced a finger along the fine, detailed carving and looked up to find him watching her, his eyes intent. He cleared his throat and glanced at the pie.
“Would you like a piece?” he asked.
“I’d love one. And some coffee?”
“I don’t have coffee, but I could make some tea.”
“Tea sounds perfect. Do you want some help?”
“No. Stay there. I’ll take care of it.”
She took the opportunity to look around some more as he prepared the tea. Fantastical beasts lined the shelves—dragons with scales so fine they seemed to ripple, wolves with fur she could almost feel, birds caught in mid-flight. Delicate landscapes emerged from flat panels, so detailed she could count the leaves on tiny trees. Several larger figures—some human, some not—were poised on small pedestals, their expressions ranging from joy to sorrow to contemplation.
At the other end of his main workstation, a half-finished woodland flower, each petal curved with impossible delicacy, was waiting for the final touches that would bring it to life.
She gave him a curious look when he returned with the tea. “Have you always carved?”
“Since I was a child,” he said, his voice turning guarded.
She waited, hoping for more, but he was concentrating on cutting the pie. “What drew you to it?”
After a long pause, he finally answered her. “At first it was just an… escape. But then I discovered that the wood speaks to me. Each piece has its own story, its own grain and character. You don’t force it. You find what’s already waiting inside.”
“That’s exactly how I feel about painting,” she said eagerly. “It’s not about imposing your will on the medium, but discovering what wants to emerge.”
His gaze flickered to her face, something she couldn’t read in his expression. “Most people don’t understand that.”
“My ex certainly didn’t. He thought art was about technical proficiency and nothing more.” She hesitated for a moment. “Would you like to see some of my work? You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” she added hastily. “In fact I probably shouldn’t have?—”
“I’d love to,” he interrupted, his big hand covering hers for a much too brief second, and she gave him a relieved smile.
But as soon as she opened her digital portfolio and handed him her phone, the vulnerability returned. She watched his face as he scrolled through the image, suddenly realizing how important it was to her that he understood her work.
He frowned down at the screen, amber eyes narrowing as he studied each piece. The silence stretched, and anxiety began to build in her chest. What was he thinking? Was he trying to find something polite to say?
Then he stopped on a particular image—an abstract watercolor of light filtering through trees onto a forest stream. “You were trying to capture the movement of light through water,” he said thoughtfully. “The feeling of being there, not just the image.”
“Yes, exactly.” A weight seemed to lift off of her shoulders. He did understand. “My ex didn’t get that at all. He said it was a waste of time to try and capture the intangible. He wanted to know why there weren’t any actual trees in the picture.”
“Then he is a fool,” he growled, and she grinned at him.
“That was my conclusion as well, although it took me too long to admit it.”
“Why?” he asked as he handed back her phone and slid a slice of pie in her direction.
“I suppose I always want to think the best of people. To believe that they mean well.”
“That hasn’t been my experience.” His tail flicked, and she could tell the subject made him uncomfortable, so she decided to change the subject.
