She is quiet, makes no promises to love such a place. She is not sure it’s within her, to love a place so rich, so fertile, she does not know how long she can even exist within such a place. She is built for mountaintops, she fears, but this is yet unconfirmed (after all, she has not perished yet!).
She wishes she could feel as he did – the love for the land is writ clear on him, his words only supplementing what is already clear. He is meant for these kinds of places, for fecundity and nature abounding, and she –
She isn’t sure what she’s meant for.
But she smiles, and the snow swirls with her smile, as if tethered. For now, it does not matter. He is not asking her to love the land, or even to stay within it. Only to visit, and that, she is sure, she can do.
She laughs at his joke, foolish as it is, and it snows harder around them. She can almost feel the cold, now, welcomes it like and old friend.
She follows as he moves, but he stops, looks back at her. Asks a question she isn’t sure how to answer – she knows nothing of this place. So there’s really only one kind of answer.
“Show me your favorite place here,” she says, looking around, wondering which paticualr spot within the lush kingdom had drawn Rouhi the most.
tell me that girl is not a song of burning