Isla
It shouldn't feel like coming home, because Isla still doesn't have one, and yet the familiarity as she walks through the long grasses on the fringes of dawn is unmistakeable. The smell of the dew in the air, the birdsong, the rustle of new leaves sprouting in the trees... it's King's End all over, but somehow more than, since the place has become a region in its own right.
And she notices that, too, the way the once-dirt roads have become well-established routes, the House of Midnight rising up like a welcome rather than a lonely outpost among the barrows. Having intended to slip in through one of the back doors and make herself comfortable until Sunjata descends for the morning, the Flood manages to beat her to it, and Isla spots him on the back porch reclining like some retired old soldier in a book.
Raising her hand in a wave, the breeze snags on the soft shawl she wears, sending it billowing out behind her. In a linen sundress, the material clings to a body made all the more sunkissed for her time in Torchline, and Isla hurries to get in the shelter of the building.
And she notices that, too, the way the once-dirt roads have become well-established routes, the House of Midnight rising up like a welcome rather than a lonely outpost among the barrows. Having intended to slip in through one of the back doors and make herself comfortable until Sunjata descends for the morning, the Flood manages to beat her to it, and Isla spots him on the back porch reclining like some retired old soldier in a book.
Raising her hand in a wave, the breeze snags on the soft shawl she wears, sending it billowing out behind her. In a linen sundress, the material clings to a body made all the more sunkissed for her time in Torchline, and Isla hurries to get in the shelter of the building.
I'll take a bruise, I know you're worth it
When you hit me, hit me hard
When you hit me, hit me hard
