cold in the violence after the war
hope is a fire to keep us warm
She is far too often found haunting the endless beaches ringing Nerine’s high cliffs, seeking something she’s not entirely sure she can name. Forgetfulness, perhaps. But it’s more than that. More than just the momentary peace galloping along the shorelines can afford her.
She’d left Dagen behind once again, not wishing to trouble him with her restlessness. She could tell he fretted over her, even if he didn’t say as much, and perhaps that is part of why she had taken to these lone treks around the kingdom. The are other reasons, of course, but nothing she’s been quite able to put into words yet. Besides, Dagen doesn’t seem to have the same fondness for running that she does.
The day is chilly and gray, the clouds hanging low overhead. The sound of the waves crashing beside her is soothing, lulling her into a mindless, meditative sort of state where there is only the breath in her lungs and the drumming of her feet against rock and sand. It isn’t until a low call sounds that she is shaken from her reverie, brought into the moment by the presence of another.
Slowing abruptly, Brazen blinks as she swings her head around to locate the source of that sound. When her gaze lands on a green and white figure, she is struck by the familiarity of it. Recognition quickly follows, warmed by happy, playful memories.
Bursting forward, his name leaves her lips almost before she can stop it. “Corban!” she shouts in greeting, her voice matured but still recognizable. More familiar, no doubt, than the body she now inhabits. The bone that had once only pressed against her skin has now ruptured through, leaving torn skin and trickles of bright blood that dry into rust-brown against her skin. She has grown accustomed to it now, but would he still recognize her as the same girl he’d once played with beneath that ghastly exterior?
Brazen
