Theea
they may say you're too small, you're too young
to do it all, but you're a giant on the inside
to do it all, but you're a giant on the inside
His promise lands soft and sure between us, and my smile widens before I can help it. He wants to keep spending time with me. The thought flares warm in my chest—strange and a little terrifying. I don’t think I’ve ever had a connection that felt like this. It feels like finding a door in a wall I thought was solid.
He tells me I’ve got nothing to be sorry for, and his hand edges closer. The cub mewls and kneads at the blanket, tiny claws tug-tug-tug like it’s working a worry out of the night. I look up at the remark on my dad, and my eyes catch his—dark the way treelines look at twilight, subtle, rich brown in the shadows. Then he gives me those words, so soft I can feel them settle: That’s how he stays with you. Not in the fall. In the flight.
My eyes prickle. When his hand rests lightly over mine, unexpected warmth floods through me, tight and fluttering. My thumb moves over his knuckle, a quiet stroke that says don’t go without asking for anything more.
I swallow, and the words come out before I can lock them down. “I was there.” My voice is barely above the cub’s purr. “I’ve never told anyone that. My mom and I—we were both there, trying to pull him back up. We almost had him, and then the cliff gave way even more and… he was just gone.” I breathe deeply once, despite the pain, and keep my eyes on the little spotted head in our laps. “He threw an illusion so we wouldn’t see him fall.” A rough swallow. “He was there, and then he wasn’t.”
The cub’s purr at it kneads is a low rumble, soft yet louder than any cat's purr. I draw the blanket closer over the three of us and let myself breathe with the fire.
“But I have so many good memories, too,” I add, softer still. “When I’m here in Halo, it… makes me feel closer to him. Like if I listen hard enough, I can still hear the wind from those rides.” I glance up at Damien, meet his gaze, and let the smallest smile tug at my mouth again. “Do you know how to ride?”
He tells me I’ve got nothing to be sorry for, and his hand edges closer. The cub mewls and kneads at the blanket, tiny claws tug-tug-tug like it’s working a worry out of the night. I look up at the remark on my dad, and my eyes catch his—dark the way treelines look at twilight, subtle, rich brown in the shadows. Then he gives me those words, so soft I can feel them settle: That’s how he stays with you. Not in the fall. In the flight.
My eyes prickle. When his hand rests lightly over mine, unexpected warmth floods through me, tight and fluttering. My thumb moves over his knuckle, a quiet stroke that says don’t go without asking for anything more.
I swallow, and the words come out before I can lock them down. “I was there.” My voice is barely above the cub’s purr. “I’ve never told anyone that. My mom and I—we were both there, trying to pull him back up. We almost had him, and then the cliff gave way even more and… he was just gone.” I breathe deeply once, despite the pain, and keep my eyes on the little spotted head in our laps. “He threw an illusion so we wouldn’t see him fall.” A rough swallow. “He was there, and then he wasn’t.”
The cub’s purr at it kneads is a low rumble, soft yet louder than any cat's purr. I draw the blanket closer over the three of us and let myself breathe with the fire.
“But I have so many good memories, too,” I add, softer still. “When I’m here in Halo, it… makes me feel closer to him. Like if I listen hard enough, I can still hear the wind from those rides.” I glance up at Damien, meet his gaze, and let the smallest smile tug at my mouth again. “Do you know how to ride?”
