Those lean sweet desperate hours - Michaelis.

[Aurane]

She mulls it over. Turning it 'round and 'round in her head.
“Not real. Don't be idiotic.”
She snorts, shaking her head slowly back and forth.
“Not possible... This isn't funny....”
(And everything beings to flake away. Like dry, old paint falling off in hard, unkind shards. Revealing slowly the nothingness. The darkness. A vast, empty universe. Devoid of light and heat and energy. Inert and endless. Impossibly eternal.)

The red mare falls silent. Stilling her lips for a moment as she peers into the heartless black. There is no tranquility there. No quiet, not in the way they understand it. Just nothing. Unfathomable nothing. It is scary, but she is riveted. It's like a brutal accident. For a few ragged breaths you are separate with it from everything. Alone in the sheer weight of carnage. (...we are lost.) But an autumnal breeze slinks down her spine and the forest reconstructs itself. Timber, lichen and moss, gold-green dapples of light. She sucks in air.

“Hello.”
She blinks, her ears pressing back against her neck. When she turns her black-brown eyes in his direction, there are some residual rifts. Cracks of deep dark, receding into the bark and grass... and him. Bleeding into him, rushing to subsume themselves to his flesh. He consumes the wreckage of her world so naturally. The play of shade seems to crowd around his shoulders and thighs. He is a part of it. In ways that she can never be, she makes only cursory contact with the absence of light—he is undeniably familiar with it, in every way.

“Hello.”
Aurane pushes her weight off of the beech tree, turning her head to the side to examine him clearly. (He is not yours.) She steps forward softly, so as not to disturb the atmosphere around them. It feels delicate. Like a clear rain of sun could chase him away entirely. But he is curiously solid. A real, living creature, she imagines. Flesh and blood and bones. If they stripped down, they would be the same. The darkness would take him, the earth her.

The red woman moves in close, but cautiously so. Her nostrils flare, pinkish and thirsty, trying to catch his scent among all the other woody ones. It is there. Plain as day, a male and... maybe familiar scent. Piney? She knows this, but the moment to connect the dots passes her by. She is far too fixated on him; much too unattached to her new home, yet. “I'm Aurane,” She offers it tentatively, but the way her dark eyes move over him is near lewd.

A ghost precedes us. A shadow follows us
And each time we stop, we fall.

not trash!