like a heartbeat drives you mad, in the stillness of remembering what you had, and what you lost
The sky is a tumultuous wonder, rife with movement as the thick, billowing clouds press eagerly against one another as if they were starving, wanton lovers – their touch fervid and hot, and as tepid as the humid air standing too still below. The moisture in the air is palpable, and even without the trickling of droplets, there are several beads of sweat seeping from her pores, leaving her as uncomfortable and as irritable as ever. The storm has already begun to rumble and roar, with trembling echoes of thunder reverberating through the dense, fertile soil, and traveling up along the length of her slender legs and through her body.
Her heart stammers slightly as the vibrations seize her, rattling the very sinewy muscle and tissue that possesses it. Within her, her unborn child rouses, as startled as she is when the ground below her trembles. With her hazel eyes narrowed with disdain, they meet with his – icy, blue – stark and vibrant in color – and soon her irritation has waned, leaving a momentary stoicism as her gold-flecked gaze greedily observes every line of his lean, yet broad frame. Every hardened line of muscle and bone is voraciously sought out by her, and she etches the image of him within her memory – should she need it later.
I’m always distracted, he utters, and there is a part of her that wonders why – though she could blame her political position for her (undeniably innate) desire to know his weaknesses, the truth is that it is ingrained in her; etched into the very marrow of her bones. Alas, he is civil (cordial, even) and she is too tired and worn to care to dissect him, and so her usual demeanor falters and in place of it, a rare and faint smile can be seen hidden in the corners of her pale mouth.
A force to be reckoned with.
A genuine rumble of laughter escapes her, the mirth reaching the wide rims of her eyes, meeting his steady gaze once more.
”You have no idea,” she murmurs, amusement laced delicately between each slow and easy syllable. ”I like to think that I am.”
Her attention is drawn away from him, discomfort stirring inside of her as she can feel his roving eyes searching the swell of her belly. Though motherhood is an identity she bears proudly, the entire process is not only exhausting, but humbling– her once slender hips and smooth torso now felt distended beyond what she had ever thought possible (neither Canaan nor Hawke felt as heavy to her as this).
The icy droplets of rain fall in earnest now, dampening her tousled, pale locks, which lay wetly against the golden sheen of her skin. Her hazel eyes study his for a long moment, her mind rifling through the various nooks cut into the volcanic territory, before giving a deliberate nod. ”There are a few; come with me.”
With a gesture of her cheek towards the east, she begins a slow and leisurely pace around the rim of the mountain, dew building up along her spine and trickling down the length of her body as the rain falls heavier by the moment. She is quiet, and aside from the occasional glance given to the indigo painted stallion beside her (to ensure he is near; to be certain he is not too far behind – ever wary, she is), she permits her mind to wander and the silence to linger between them.
Finally, she descends into a large pocket carved into the side of the mountain, tucking herself within its shadow and shielding herself away from the growing onslaught of rain. The silence does not carry, however, and soon, her curiosity becomes impossible for her to ignore.
”Tell me about yourself, Warrick.” she says, though her eyes are still searching the dark horizon and the thundering storm as it crawls across the length of the sky. ”Magnus is a good judge of character – there must be something about you that he would invite you to stay with us.”
.
