Wren
I need the clouds to cover me
When he spoke again, it was enough to make her eyes finally fall solidly on his. She kept her gaze steady, searching without knowing exactly what she was looking for, as though the way he said it, the way he held it, might make it solid again. It didn’t. Everything felt partial, like reaching into a space that should have been full and finding only fragments that slipped apart the moment she tried to hold them together. But, at least they had some common ground now.
At least, as far as she knew.
She studied him then, more deliberately than before. The way he held himself, steady but not rigid. The way his hands curved around the mug, like he, too, needed something constant beneath them. There was something in that—something that pulled faintly at her, not sharp or overwhelming, but present enough that she couldn’t quite set it aside. It settled in her chest as a quiet pressure, unfamiliar but not unwelcome, and she found herself holding onto it without fully understanding why. She could feel the base of her neck start to tighten, and the familiar throb start in her temple.
“You were a Dragoon.” she said, her voice softer now, less of the bite than when she had answered him before. She could see the Nest in her mind's eye, foggy and blurry, but there. A place like that was unmistakable. It didn't appear as anything other than what it was, unlike some of the buildings and rooms she saw in her half-formed dreams.Her gaze dropped again, breath catching briefly before she steadied it, grounding herself in the simple rhythm of it.
“It’s strange -- uh,” she stuttered, less uncertain, "hearing it like that. Like it’s supposed to mean something.” Her fingers tightened slightly around the cup again. “It feels like it should.” Because why else would she know what the dragoon's raining grounds looked like?
At least, as far as she knew.
She studied him then, more deliberately than before. The way he held himself, steady but not rigid. The way his hands curved around the mug, like he, too, needed something constant beneath them. There was something in that—something that pulled faintly at her, not sharp or overwhelming, but present enough that she couldn’t quite set it aside. It settled in her chest as a quiet pressure, unfamiliar but not unwelcome, and she found herself holding onto it without fully understanding why. She could feel the base of her neck start to tighten, and the familiar throb start in her temple.
“You were a Dragoon.” she said, her voice softer now, less of the bite than when she had answered him before. She could see the Nest in her mind's eye, foggy and blurry, but there. A place like that was unmistakable. It didn't appear as anything other than what it was, unlike some of the buildings and rooms she saw in her half-formed dreams.Her gaze dropped again, breath catching briefly before she steadied it, grounding herself in the simple rhythm of it.
“It’s strange -- uh,” she stuttered, less uncertain, "hearing it like that. Like it’s supposed to mean something.” Her fingers tightened slightly around the cup again. “It feels like it should.” Because why else would she know what the dragoon's raining grounds looked like?
Pulling them down, surround me
