He doesn’t understand yet how death can shape life. How this moment might skew the trajectory of his entire future. He only knows that it is not supposed to be like this. How even in the face of the inevitable, she clings so tenaciously. He can feel it. Can feel her pushing at the edges of his thoughts. Emotions.
She’s not leaving. Not really.
As he looks at his beautiful golden mama standing over them, he can feel her grief. But he presses towards her. Shoves the certainty sleeping mama had left with him, willful and haphazard and entirely without finesse, at her, hoping she will understand (even if he can’t quite understand it yet).
Though Reave does not wish to leave (not yet, not when mama might still wake up), the ground is cold and the still body he presses against has rapidly begun to lose heat as the chill leaches through stone. Shivering faintly, he struggles to rise once more, legs still weak and wobbly beneath him. It is frustrating, the weakness. He has seen strength, and this is not it.
But he perseveres, because that is what his golden mama needs. Because through it all, he can sense the only thing keeping her from shattering in this moment is him. He could be strong for her.
Stumbling forward, he burrows into her warmth. His face presses against her, feeling her skin, warm and alive, give beneath his touch like sleeping mama’s should have. It feels safe here, as though nothing bad could ever touch him. He understands then, in some deeply visceral way, why mama had fought to be here.
reave
@[lilliana]