flora
The Ashborns' door isn’t half as intimidating as Flora remembers it being, which only makes her feel worse about standing in front of it. It’s not like she’s close with them—just nods and pleasant-enough smiles when she'd been younger. But still, the guilt twists low in her gut as she knocks. This isn’t an ambush or anything, but it still feels a little off. Like her feet have wandered where her heart said no, and now her pride is playing dumb about the whole thing.
The woman who answers is polite, if a little surprised. Flora explains—short and breezy, the way she always does when she’s trying not to feel too much. She says now that Kai is staying in King's End, it'd be nice for him to have a piece of home. Something tangible. Something small. Just a rock, really. The Ashborns exchange a glance but don’t ask questions. A minute later, Flora’s tucking a rough bit of paving stone into the inside pocket of her coat, the weight of it somehow heavier than it should be.
—
The walk to the training grounds is a wind tunnel in every direction. Stormbreak is always lofty and lightheaded, but in Leafchange it’s downright obnoxious, like the city’s trying to rip the words from your mouth before you can say them. Flora’s coat flares like a banner behind her, crimson velvet snapping in the gale. Her curls are a losing battle, pulled loose from their twist to whip wildly around her face. She tries to tuck them back once, then gives up with a huff, letting them snarl as they will. Spice rides in the hollow of her collar, wings folded tight against the gusts and nose buried in the scarf looped around Flora’s throat.
By the time the gilded towers of the training grounds crest into view, she’s breathless, windblown, and worst of all, early.
The woman who answers is polite, if a little surprised. Flora explains—short and breezy, the way she always does when she’s trying not to feel too much. She says now that Kai is staying in King's End, it'd be nice for him to have a piece of home. Something tangible. Something small. Just a rock, really. The Ashborns exchange a glance but don’t ask questions. A minute later, Flora’s tucking a rough bit of paving stone into the inside pocket of her coat, the weight of it somehow heavier than it should be.
—
The walk to the training grounds is a wind tunnel in every direction. Stormbreak is always lofty and lightheaded, but in Leafchange it’s downright obnoxious, like the city’s trying to rip the words from your mouth before you can say them. Flora’s coat flares like a banner behind her, crimson velvet snapping in the gale. Her curls are a losing battle, pulled loose from their twist to whip wildly around her face. She tries to tuck them back once, then gives up with a huff, letting them snarl as they will. Spice rides in the hollow of her collar, wings folded tight against the gusts and nose buried in the scarf looped around Flora’s throat.
By the time the gilded towers of the training grounds crest into view, she’s breathless, windblown, and worst of all, early.
My house of stone, your ivy grows
And now I'm covered in you
And now I'm covered in you
