Theea
you lose yourself when the wind flows through your hair
you taste freedom as you fill your lungs with air
you taste freedom as you fill your lungs with air
I keep my eyes on the pinecone, rolling its scaled weight from palm to palm. The ridges bite gently at my skin, something real to hold while the question slips like mist through my fingers. She has no answer—and honestly, who would? Maybe only the gods, and they’re stingy with that kind of truth.
What are my values? Fulfillment? The words feel too big until I shrink them down to something I can touch. I like making people smile. Laugh. I like carving a little pocket of room for it where there wasn’t any before—like tugging a blanket over someone in the rain so their candle stays lit. Surprising someone in sparring enough to make him laugh. I wonder, unhelpfully, what Maea’s laugh sounds like. Bright? Rusted? Would it warm this clearing?
When I finally look up, her pale gaze is already on me, steady as a hand on a skittish horse. My mind jumps to the first time a smile changed anything for me—Niki, on a day I was soaked to the bone and lost in a place that didn’t know my name. He didn’t have to help, but he did, and that simple kindness turned the edge of the world from a cliff to a path. It was the first time I’d walked it without a parent beside me and not felt completely alone.
Maea admits she underestimated smiles, and something old moves behind her face as she goes on—regret, layered and heavy. I don’t know that weight. I don’t want to. If I can help it, I won’t.
I tip my head, a small, earnest offering. “I’m sorry bridges got burned,” I tell her softly. Then I let myself smile, gentle but sure. “But I think we’ve built one here, right?”
What are my values? Fulfillment? The words feel too big until I shrink them down to something I can touch. I like making people smile. Laugh. I like carving a little pocket of room for it where there wasn’t any before—like tugging a blanket over someone in the rain so their candle stays lit. Surprising someone in sparring enough to make him laugh. I wonder, unhelpfully, what Maea’s laugh sounds like. Bright? Rusted? Would it warm this clearing?
When I finally look up, her pale gaze is already on me, steady as a hand on a skittish horse. My mind jumps to the first time a smile changed anything for me—Niki, on a day I was soaked to the bone and lost in a place that didn’t know my name. He didn’t have to help, but he did, and that simple kindness turned the edge of the world from a cliff to a path. It was the first time I’d walked it without a parent beside me and not felt completely alone.
Maea admits she underestimated smiles, and something old moves behind her face as she goes on—regret, layered and heavy. I don’t know that weight. I don’t want to. If I can help it, I won’t.
I tip my head, a small, earnest offering. “I’m sorry bridges got burned,” I tell her softly. Then I let myself smile, gentle but sure. “But I think we’ve built one here, right?”
the time has stopped, your mind has set sail
the road is home, the stars will light the trail
the road is home, the stars will light the trail
