Here in this garden, in his garden of scale and wing, in the trees and lingering smell of ash- it is safe. It is home now. The birds may cry, may scream at him for his dismissal but they can not reach him in here. Not because it is physically impossible but because they choose to listen, they choose to scream at him instead. They know, they know he hates it, they know the ache of his temples. They know. In here they can not reach her, and though he is so close, he can not reach her either.
No.
She can't make promises either, she is smart not to.
No.
It is a word he is not unaccustomed to uttering himself. No is easy, no is safe. Yes takes time, yes takes commitment, yes takes pieces of yourself that you will never get back. Yes is an uncertainty, a risk, it is dangerous.
He doesn't know who she runs from, he doesn't know why. Truth be told he wouldn't know even if she had spoken the name. He doesn't know a Cordis, he doesn't know why she runs, he doesn't know her. Not in the way he knew himself, not in the way he had once known a woman. He only knows himself but he is still young, he can learn more. Shouldn’t he learn more?
It’s the stillness that speaks first, sharing this long silence with a stranger. Neither speaking, only thinking of faraway places, of lost things. She says she once served the wicked, he only stares back. He is not ashamed, he is proud, proud he knows how to serve.
“Is that why you run? To get away from something wicked? You’ve picked an odd place to seek saving, you ask favors from an odd sort of savior.” His head tilts, scenting at the air because he simply can not help it. “I can’t promise it won’t find you, but I will. I will always find you.” He stores that smell in his memory, something that is slick with tendrils of river water, though she is sunlit she smells of things that call only to the dark. Of something that is severed and pieced back together not with intent to repair, but because it must.
It must go on, it must splinter and mend, over and over. Perhaps he can not keep her, but for now he can hold her. He can serve.
- Year: 233
- Season: Autumn
- SWP: None
COTY
Assailant -- Year 226
QOTY
"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
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and i found love where it wasn't supposed to be; any
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