cold in the violence after the war
hope is a fire to keep us warm
Everything had changed so drastically in what seemed a single day, and yet nothing had. Momma had found them the moment they had stumbled from the mountain and brought them home. She thinks she must have been waiting for them, and though Momma had never said anything, she wonders how much she actually knows. She had never thought about it before, not really. But it had become more and more apparent as she started paying more attention that Momma always knew so much more than she ever said.
It had been strange, to come home to a party. Distracting. Until it was almost easy to forget everything that had happened. But when everyone had left, she had so much time to think. Too much time.
She’d hugged Daddy extra close, because she knows now. She understands the burden he carries every day. The fairies had made her a child again, but she doesn’t think she could ever forget. She knows what’s coming. What waits for her when she gets older.
And she still hasn’t quite decided how she feels about that.
Maybe that’s why she has been unusually quiet. It worries her that they might have noticed. She doesn’t want to have to explain. Doesn’t want them to worry. Daddy worries so much already, she could see it. She tells him every chance she can that she loves him, just to watch the worry melt into happy for a little bit.
She doesn’t want to be another burden to him. So she doesn’t say anything.
Feet digging into the sand, she ambles forward, brows furrowed as she idly splashes in the waves that wash rhythmically forward. She’d been looking for Dagen for a few minutes now. It hadn’t been that long since she’d last seen him, but she didn’t want to be alone. It is so much easier to get lost in her thoughts when she’s alone, and she wanted to avoid that as much as possible. Maybe Dagen liked to be broody, but she doesn’t care for it.
Even if it does feel unavoidable sometimes.
Her features light up when she spots him after another minute or so of idle walking, and she springs forward into a trot. She had grown leaner and lankier since they’d returned from the mountain, the angles of her youthful frame growing sharper rather than softer with time. Dagen had grown too, but he lacked the sharpness that seemed to define her edges. But she is avoiding thinking too much on why that is. When she reaches him, she slows to a halt, bumping her forehead against his shoulder affectionately before pressing herself comfortably against him, uncaring that she is blatantly invading his personal space.
No doubt he was used to it by now. No one was safe from her need for such close physical affection. Not Mommy, not Dadddy. And certainly not Dagen.
Brazen
@[Dagen]
