for every tyrant, a tear for the vulnerable
in every lost soul, the bones of a miracle
She feels guilty for dragging him up here, but when they had fallen into step together something instinctive had taken over. They could not just lie down in the shadow of that log near the lake, or doze in the cool dryness of the cave with the ferns at its mouth. If asked she could not have said why, but Lie does not ask. He trusts the little mustang mare to take him where she will and wen at last she watches him look with interest around the little nook in the mountain despite his weariness her sadness roars up into her sinuses and her eyes sting. She blinks fast, and he does not see because he is marveling at this small beautiful place. Her need to search for just the right place fades away. She follows him toward the place where the golden light spills through the papery white trunks.
On the ledge the view is splendid and shocks her into a familiar awe. There is a thrill in the view and a deep inexplicable pleasure at sharing it with him. The little liver mare tucks herself against Lie, looking down over a snow covered Hyaline, the blue lake, the golden light.
That light belongs to us. A thought she does not share but the fading day lives in the color of their eyes, shivers over their skins and makes them both shine in their own opposite ways--she a deep dark richness, he a bright, heavensent glow. It’s the first time she thinks that maybe their hearts exist within one another, that they are mismatched parts that come together to make something whole.
His soft words are almost lost on her, because it is beautiful and she does not need to agree in order to make it true.
Children. That does call her out of the reverie. Hadn’t they just been children themselves? But she find her heart thuds in a not unpleasant way and a becoming blush warms her cheeks. She shelters herself beneath the curve of his neck and tucks her chin against the velvety skin of his muscular chest. “They will have to be careful.” She replies softly, with a breath of laughter. He’d spoken absently, she knew, but she has no desire to rebuff the suggestion of children between them.
He needs to rest, but she does not push him to do so. Instead she quietly leans into the warmth of him--a little too warm, reminding her how unwell he is--and lets him enjoy this place that is suddenly theirs. A little bit she waits for him to realize what he’d said and what she’d said.
@[litotes]
