If only she could hear his thoughts.
If only she knew what he imagined of their would-be life together, a burning star bound to collapse in on itself. If only she could picture the same tapestry of their woven lives, feel the roughness of a blanket finished by a hurried and unsteady hand. It would be a ragged thing, their shared lives, as if the yarn it was composed of had been stretched and tangled too many times to be completely useful. It would be uneven and coarse in some spots (all the times they had lashed out at each other) but it would be tough and resilient, too. Regardless of its faults, she thinks she wouldn’t mind a life like that. She imagines it would feel like the finest silk against the numbed metal that is her skin.
She is deaf and blind to both his thoughts and the images running through his brain, though.
Talulah has to content herself with reading a face that is, admittedly, easy enough for her to decipher. She can see that he wants to help her, can see the lines of concern irritating his handsome face. She hates the pity it implies. He’s warm and here, so close she can almost hear his heartbeat, though. As much as she wants to push him away for it like old times, it’s too nice just to be near him once again. His muzzle traces the groove along her neck and she closes her eyes. She imagines they are back in the Dale, reunited under the shadows of the distant mountains. They are safe, they are home, they are together. A desperate nostalgia weighs heavily in her bones, grounding her in that moment. She thinks she could grow roots then and there and be content for all of eternity.
But then he speaks.
The moment shatters (not the first time something broken has come between them). “No.” She almost growls, her amber eyes flying open as reality descends upon her. They both know his meaning, and the metal mare cannot possibly consider it right now. She can’t think about a lack of intersections, of the too few and too far between times their lives come together at crossroads. It’s not something she’s ever considered before (that her angel will always return to earth, but her fire-man will someday turn to ash), really, and not something she wants to start realizing. But he’s quick to rectify his mistake. Tiberios consoles her with his mantra. “Never,” he says, and then again, “never.” It’s almost enough to sooth her, almost enough to make her believe him. She retreats back into his side. Her time there is limited, after all, and she means to make the most of it.
Some of that new wildness creeps up in her, then. Some of her own fire returns to her eyes. She thinks they could run away (for a short time or forever, either would be fine with her). Maybe no one would notice. Maybe Tiphon will still be off wherever he’s gone to this time; maybe Shatter will find solace in the comfort of another like Talulah had. Maybe she doesn’t care what any of them think, anyway. She tilts her head to take regard Tiberios, that boldness still brightening her gaze. She’s about to ask him, but something in his own gilded eyes stops her tongue. For the first time, Talulah sees more than herself reflected in his gaze. She sees that he’s moved on in ways that are practical if not emotional. She sees that when he leaves here, he’ll return to the Falls, to her. He won’t run away with her, not anymore.
His question still hovers in the air around them, putting a pause on Talulah’s own inquiries. “I couldn’t believe it even if I wanted to.” A smile starts to pull at her lips, because he has made her feel better in some ways. In other, unexpected ways, though, he’s made her feel worse. But it’s his turn, so she asks. “Are you happy?” With Shatter, with Tyrna, with the Falls, with everything. She doesn’t have to specify; they can both read between each other’s lines to find the questions that really matter. All she cares is that he is, even if the truth will be yet another blow.
t a l u l a h
metal woman of the dale