I say your name

RORY

He was twisted into shapes: knots and tangles and sharp edges, every piece of his soul sticking out through paper-thin skin and between hollow bones. He was a thousand snakes coiled up within his flesh, writhing, writhing, writhing, poison and anxiety, the high-strung energy of an idiot horse with nowhere to go but every desire to run.

He was sick with worry, ready to vomit, unable to eat, cold and trembling even as he rebuilt his embers with hesitant and careful hands, rocking back and forth and trying to remember what time it was. Always so careful with his time-keeping, with his carefully made candles, one for each day, the ones he had watched with a heavy, dispassionate heart and failed to light the next once the current sputtered out—

He was lost in the darkness, adrift and restless, unable to eat, unable to sleep, unable to think. The only thing that fit within his mind was Karlia, the sound of her voice, the tapping on the door, the words little brother like a blessing and a curse through the wood, slipping through the cracks.

He knew it was getting close to sunrise.

So he built the embers into a careful fire, Ludo's lantern a sort of second-hand shield sitting on the table, trembling fingers heating coffee and pulling out two mugs. He set them on the counter.

He waited.

He paced.

His heart was bursting in his chest, dread and worry and love a potent mixture searing his veins and sending shivers down his taut back.

Until finally he felt it, and peeked behind the edge of the blinds, seeing stars and the first touch of cold, cold blue in the east. The darkness was lifting: dawn was here.

He didn't think. Didn't even put on shoes. Just flung on a thick wool scarf and turned the lock and then he was outside and if he processed what he saw (was the snow disturbed? had she truly been there?) he didn't know, for he had only one thing in mind: throwing open the barn door, to see if his sister was there.

as if you were on fire from within,
the moon lives in the lining of your skin.