06-04-2021, 12:49 PM
She remembers.
Remembers standing by the river, bleeding. How the heart had not let the bleeding stop, how the healing had not let her die. How the dream thing had begged her to rest.
It is the heart now that keeps the effort of healing her companion from exhausting her completely. (The heart is such a strange thing. It grants her both tremendous strength and devastating weakness.) It does not embarrass her to touch the mare, Basilica. No, she is a kind thing. An affectionate thing. Built for curling herself around others, just like her mother.
It had not even occurred to her to ask permission before she’d reached for Ciri. Had not occurred to her to think that there were those who did not want to be helped. But the dark mare does not recoil, no. She does not gnash her teeth as Basilica focuses all of her energy into stitching the skin back together.
Ciri’s thanks does not fall on deaf ears but the most Basilica can offer in response is a slanted smile -- she cannot give more than this when it had been automatic, second nature. The dark mare had been willing to give up her life for her, it is the least she can do to repay her. But Basilica’s brow furrows in confusion with the mention of flowers and she turns to glance at her tail, her heart lurching at the sight of the blooms tangled there.
“Thank you,” she muses, though there is a note of questioning in her tone. (Is this the dream thing’s doing? Had he taken the stars only to replace them with the flowers? Is this merely a continuation of the dream?)
With her heart beating something sideways, she draws her attention back to Ciri, the smooth flesh of her chest, the scars adoring the rest of her and offers a slanted smile. “Life has not been kind to you?” she asks gently, convinced now that she is still lost in a dream.
Remembers standing by the river, bleeding. How the heart had not let the bleeding stop, how the healing had not let her die. How the dream thing had begged her to rest.
It is the heart now that keeps the effort of healing her companion from exhausting her completely. (The heart is such a strange thing. It grants her both tremendous strength and devastating weakness.) It does not embarrass her to touch the mare, Basilica. No, she is a kind thing. An affectionate thing. Built for curling herself around others, just like her mother.
It had not even occurred to her to ask permission before she’d reached for Ciri. Had not occurred to her to think that there were those who did not want to be helped. But the dark mare does not recoil, no. She does not gnash her teeth as Basilica focuses all of her energy into stitching the skin back together.
Ciri’s thanks does not fall on deaf ears but the most Basilica can offer in response is a slanted smile -- she cannot give more than this when it had been automatic, second nature. The dark mare had been willing to give up her life for her, it is the least she can do to repay her. But Basilica’s brow furrows in confusion with the mention of flowers and she turns to glance at her tail, her heart lurching at the sight of the blooms tangled there.
“Thank you,” she muses, though there is a note of questioning in her tone. (Is this the dream thing’s doing? Had he taken the stars only to replace them with the flowers? Is this merely a continuation of the dream?)
With her heart beating something sideways, she draws her attention back to Ciri, the smooth flesh of her chest, the scars adoring the rest of her and offers a slanted smile. “Life has not been kind to you?” she asks gently, convinced now that she is still lost in a dream.
@[Ciri]