it's still my heart to sell; dovev

[leliana]

I know what it is but I'm hoping that all is well
no harvest of green but it's still my heart to sell

She felt him before she saw him.

Something stirred in her, primal and deep, something that caused her to lift her head, crimson-dipped nose gently testing the air, nostrils flaring to drink him in. It was like the first time she had found him and because of it, she almost missed the coppery scent that permeated the air, the bite of it. When she saw him, standing near the edge of the shadows of the jungles and looming branches, her pulse jumped in her throat and her thick lashes fluttered. “Oh,” she cried softly, voice catching as she took in his wounds.

Without thinking, her magic clawed from her chest and reached forward, desperate as it found its way through him. She closed her eyes against the force of it and gave herself over to the power of it, letting her mind move through his body—finding the aches, the bruises, the deep wounds. Her lips parted on a shuddering exhale at the extent of the damage and although the healing hesitated, she drove it on, pulling together the flesh that gaped apart, pressing the bruises from him, once again, staunching the bleeding.

It was exhaustive and by the time that she was done, she swayed a little on her feet, taking a stumbling step forward and then catching herself. While a part of her, the healing was still new, and she had to wonder if she was capable of holding it or if it was like the sun. Perhaps one day she would go blind from trying. She could feel the moments, like now, when she overexerted herself and the fatigue set in as deep as her marrow, reminding herself, always reminding herself, that she was a conduit—not the source of it.

Her eyes fluttered open again, the bruise of exhaustion clear in their lovely depths, but she smiled, red velvet curling softly, shyly in the corners. “That should feel better,” she echoed, the same words from the meadow escaping her, although this time, her mouth was not against his cheek and he was not pressed into her side. This time, he stood yards (eons) apart; despite the pull in her chest, she hesitated to move closer to him. Instead, she ruffled her wings by her side, the onyx of them turning first a brilliant shade of emerald, matching the jungle canopy behind him, and then turning the same shade as the blue creatures that glowed softly around her, their light illuminating the beach as the waves rolled continually upward.

She glanced downward, brow creasing with a frown, as she watched the water lapping around her ankles and then looked up to him through her lashes. Now that she was here, she wasn’t sure what to say, wasn’t sure why she had come. He had given her no inclination that he expected her to follow him; he had never even told her his name. She has simply followed him, as the sun follows the moon, hopeless against the pull of his gravity. She had no idea of knowing the others who laid claim to his heart, both the innocence that lay trapped within it and the sin that roiled; she had no way of knowing what curse erupted bone from flesh, gifting him with such tragic power. She simply knew that when he looked at her, when she saw the darkness in his eyes, she felt compelled to follow, to soothe, to press her magic into his chest.

Caught between her need and her fear, she remained rooted, the only movement coming from the salted breeze rolling in off the ocean, lifting her mane and exposing the dappled arch of her neck.

Finally, she whispered, letting that same breeze carry her voice to him—

“I had to see you again.”

I put everything I had into something that didn't grow
like going on a wild hunt, shooting arrows without a bow