you don't know that you're living 'til you're carrying scars
Flora considers the tree again when Thal phrases it that way, her mouth tilting thoughtfully as she follows the line of bark and branch upward before letting out a small, approving hum. "Yeah," she says with an easy nod, rain catching on the loose curls escaping her hood. "That’s actually a way better way of putting it."
Her attention drifts back toward Thal, the grin that follows bright and quick, brows bouncing in quiet agreement. "You’d probably like Mateo too," she adds, warmth threading easily through her voice at the mention of her brother. The words pause there for a moment as she wrinkles her nose, trying to land on a description that actually captures him rather than something overly tidy. "He’s...very unpretentious," she decides after a beat, the smile returning as she pushes the stick into the soil again to carve another shallow hollow near the roots. "Like, dangerously competent with plants that could absolutely kill you, but he’d still hand you tea and ask how your day’s going."
She drops a few more seeds into the dark pocket of earth, brushing soil over them before straightening slightly as Thal takes the bottle. The comment about horns earns a quiet snicker from her, shoulders lifting in a loose shrug as she shakes her head. "You know, Danta’s been trying to convince me to go the horn route too." The amusement lingers in the corner of her mouth, but curiosity edges in as she glances sideways again, studying the easy way Thal moves, the tail, the horns, the sharp confidence of it all. "Have you always been an Ancient?" she asks, the question open rather than probing, her tone casual as she nudges another bit of earth over the seeds with the toe of her boot while rain taps softly against the Mathair’s massive trunk above them. While she isn't actively thinking of becoming an ancient, she's also not not thinking about it, either.
Her attention drifts back toward Thal, the grin that follows bright and quick, brows bouncing in quiet agreement. "You’d probably like Mateo too," she adds, warmth threading easily through her voice at the mention of her brother. The words pause there for a moment as she wrinkles her nose, trying to land on a description that actually captures him rather than something overly tidy. "He’s...very unpretentious," she decides after a beat, the smile returning as she pushes the stick into the soil again to carve another shallow hollow near the roots. "Like, dangerously competent with plants that could absolutely kill you, but he’d still hand you tea and ask how your day’s going."
She drops a few more seeds into the dark pocket of earth, brushing soil over them before straightening slightly as Thal takes the bottle. The comment about horns earns a quiet snicker from her, shoulders lifting in a loose shrug as she shakes her head. "You know, Danta’s been trying to convince me to go the horn route too." The amusement lingers in the corner of her mouth, but curiosity edges in as she glances sideways again, studying the easy way Thal moves, the tail, the horns, the sharp confidence of it all. "Have you always been an Ancient?" she asks, the question open rather than probing, her tone casual as she nudges another bit of earth over the seeds with the toe of her boot while rain taps softly against the Mathair’s massive trunk above them. While she isn't actively thinking of becoming an ancient, she's also not not thinking about it, either.
you're either falling in love or you're falling apart
