i was the match and you were the rock [KINDLING]

[Cress]

all that we have amassed sits before us, shattered into ash

Months have passed since she has escaped the dark god’s lair, and slowly but surely Cress is learning once more how to relax. Long days pass and Cress spends most of them alone as she recovers from the torture she endured. Winters passes slowly (coldly) and she can breathe without panicking; spring arrives and her head wound finally closes on its own, leaving an ugly scar that is mostly covered by her thick forelock. Now spring is bleeding into summer and she feels as though she is finally ready to venture out of the kingdom for the first time in a very long time. It’s now or never, as they say. She can do this.

The mark under her eye seems to hum as she approaches the border, but she doesn’t let her fear overwhelm her. Eight had magically (and, surprisingly, painlessly) pressed the tattoo into her skin, with a stern reminder that Flamevein’s curse would hurt her far longer than the others if she ever betrayed the Valley—not that she ever plans to. She loves her home far too much to ever want to betray it; she’ll live out the rest of her days here. The valley is the only thing she has left. Her family is gone… she has no lover or loyal friends, admittedly by her own choices. She has to serve the Valley because it is the only thing that matters.

She tries not to think about her dead parents… she has grieved heavily for them already and their memories are painful to bear. She knows she should honor them, tell the others that two former monarchs have passed into the voice… but she can’t. Even their names burn when they pass her lips. When the truth comes out, she hopes that they do not blame her for keeping it to herself. It’s just so hard to think about… it was hard enough to tell Demian they were dead, and she hadn’t even called them by name. She wonders if Davorin knows about Father’s passing; do Smolder and Sinder even care that Mother is gone?

She stops as the edge of the cosmic flames marking the border, and though she closes her eyes, she can still see the light of the flames and feel their sickening heat warming her skin. She has no reason to be afraid—her loyalty to the Valley is unwavering—but she remains frozen in place for many minutes. She has the mark. The flames cannot hurt her; they will not burn her. With a whimper she takes a step forward, the heat washing over her as her foreleg breaches the barrier. Another step and both front limbs have made it through and she feels trapped in the border’s embrace. Struggling (an failing) not to panic, she forces herself completely out of the Valley. She made it, she’s uninjured. Sobbing with relief, she stumbles away from the Valley.

The return trip will be just as traumatizing.

The trip to the Meadow takes far longer than a trip across the kingdom, and she is exhausted when she finally arrives; she’s way too out of shape for this (how did she ever survive the dark god’s lair like this?). Perhaps she was in better shape some months ago; maybe weeks and months of stagnation have made her weak. Stranger things have happened, after all. So what if she’s out of shape? She’s no warrior; she has none of the characteristics of a true warrior. She doesn’t need to be in shape all of the time—that would be positively exhausting. Politics are too important for that.

Her parents were warriors, though.
She tries so hard not to think of them.

She tries so hard, but why then is the dark grey shape that is so familiar to her crossing her sight? The mare who birthed her, the one who always tried to appear dainty but had too much draft in her to appear as anything other than baroque. If she is hallucinating, why is the woman coming closer and becoming more real? Why is her dead mother appearing to her? Has she finally gone crazy? Has the dark god played yet another cruel trick on her? But no, the woman is most definitely here and solid and real and Cress collapses into her embrace. She doesn’t wonder how Kindling could recognize her after so many years—a mother never forgets her child’s face, even if it has been nearly a decade since they last talked. She never forgets. She never forgot. She’s not dead. She’s here. She’s real.

Hopefully she doesn’t mind Cress sobbing into her shoulder.

cress

oxytocin x kindling