funny how true colours shine in darkness and secrecy

Koa

Don't you just wanna wake up dark as a lake
Smelling like a bonfire, lost in a haze?

"A wickerwoman," Koa repeats faintly, remembering the monstrosity from his studies. Definitely a creature that lives at the bottom of his list of favorites, gathering dust and mold and rot as he daydreamed about dragons and ursurs and lials. Focusing in on the hum of Flora's voice, he forces the images of misshapen faces from his mind, instead letting the warmth of her memory act like an anchor, soothing and warm. "Smart kids," he murmurs with a low chuckle, smile curving at the press of her hand. It's too easy to forget that they were fighting moments ago, that this is the same hand which held his heart and squeezed it tight until it bruised.

A hand that is gone, suddenly, leaving behind a prickly emptiness in his sweaty palm. Between Flora ahead and the wickerwoman behind, Koa's attention had been fully enraptured, so much so that he does not notice the change in setting as it unfolds. Only now that the tether between them is broken does his sense of reality extend to their surroundings, the glade materializing into existence like late-loading pixels in a video game. It's a beautiful space, the kind one might select intentionally for a romantic picnic on a summer evening, all soft grass and warm browns and the quiet symphony of wind rustling the trees.

It's probably full of those fucking orchids that have a taste for human flesh, but y'know. Idyllic otherwise.

Koa doesn't register the romance, though: he's still keyed up from their retreat. "Is it gone, then?" Flora's body language has shifted, simultaneously more and less at ease in a way he doesn't fully pick up on as he looks around, seeking any sign of movement amongst the pressing trees. Only once he's satisfied their pursuer has abandoned the chase (or is maybe just following very, very slowly) does the young man let himself breathe a sigh of relief, muscles relaxing as he scrubs a hand across his face and into the tangle of his hair.

"Yeah, fuck that thing," Koa agrees, but he's smiling when he turns back to Flora, adrenaline and relief buoying his mood, dulling the sting of their earlier discussion. He takes a step forward, warm and unthinking, reaching out to brush errant moss from where it's clung to Flora's shoulder. "You okay?" he asks, fingers lingering with thoughtless ease upon her upper arm. "I thought we were gonna be tree food for sure. But you were great."

If you're drunk on life, babe, I think it's great
But while in this world I think I'll take my whiskey neat