Perhaps if he was a wiser man, he would have thought about what he would do once he got here.
Perhaps he would have come up with everything that he wanted to say. Everything left trapped in the back of his lungs. But Brigade is not a clever nor a wise man and the only thing he has found that he is good at is compartmentalizing. So he has no words for her. He has nothing to prepare him for this moment.
All he has is this marrow-deep ache that spreads through him.
All he has is the longing that tears through him like a wild beast.
His face remains impassive, save for the eyes. Those are as stormy as the water that rages against the cliffs before her. They burn in his slack face, studying her intently, watching the way that she is tossed about the wind like some pearl. When she greets him, she is calm, steady—like he was a stranger.
It sears across his belly but he just bites down on his jaw to ignore it. “Hello, Kensa,” he greets and does his best to not let his voice soften her name like it is so won’t to do. Instead, he keeps it neutral—just the formation of syllables and nothing more. This is just two strangers greeting themselves one dawn.
It is nothing, he tells himself.
Nothing.
He ignores that which flares to life in him and rolls his shoulder, feeling the beginning feeling of nerves set on fire. Something that stirs in him and begs him to take to the skies although he is far too exhausted to keep himself aloft. Instead he stamps a foot, flicks his tail—lets loose of energy in small ways.
More words threaten to come but he chokes them down.
BRIGADE
when I was a man I thought it ended when I knew love's perfect ache
but my peace has always depended on all the ashes in my wake