you don't know that you're living 'til you're carrying scars
Rain freckles the shoulders of Flora’s green rain jacket as she moves between the hanging veils of leaves without looking at them directly, her steps instinctive in the way of someone who grew up learning which roots will hold and which will coil if you give them an excuse. The Mathair rises ahead of her, vast and breathing in that slow, timbered way that isn’t quite wind and isn’t quite stillness either, and even now she feels the old, familiar hum beneath her ribs, the memory of the void burned out and life coaxed back with stubborn hands and saltwater prayers miraculously answered.
She’s close enough to smell the wet charcoal when she notices the figure crouched at the trunk, fingers pressed flat against bark that still carries the faint scar of flame. "Careful!" Flora calls out, her voice bright enough to cut clean through the rain without sharpness. "She can be touchy about being, well, touched."
There’s a soft, amused breath under it as she steps closer, boots sinking slightly into the damp earth, gold rings glinting when she lifts a hand in loose greeting rather than reprimand. She doesn’t recognize the woman—doesn’t connect the pale spill of blonde with anyone she knows—but that hardly matters. Anyone who lays a palm against the Mathair like that earns at least a gentle heads-up.
She’s close enough to smell the wet charcoal when she notices the figure crouched at the trunk, fingers pressed flat against bark that still carries the faint scar of flame. "Careful!" Flora calls out, her voice bright enough to cut clean through the rain without sharpness. "She can be touchy about being, well, touched."
There’s a soft, amused breath under it as she steps closer, boots sinking slightly into the damp earth, gold rings glinting when she lifts a hand in loose greeting rather than reprimand. She doesn’t recognize the woman—doesn’t connect the pale spill of blonde with anyone she knows—but that hardly matters. Anyone who lays a palm against the Mathair like that earns at least a gentle heads-up.
you're either falling in love or you're falling apart
