Lena
and sweetest in the gale is heard
and sore must be the storm
and sore must be the storm
She recognized Zhanshi instantly – customary, in her line of work. But instead of affection, an open palm, a steady hand bearing a treat, she stiffened. Breaths inward, outward, lungs inflating with hot, dry air, visions of other moments beginning to cloud her mind. Rubble. Dust. Ruin. Maybe she could choke on them again.
Her fingers shook over the rim of the jar, a steady rhythm of apprehension coiled down the notches of her spine. Gaze followed soon after, starting at the vessel, and then running over sand, until her head had to turn over her shoulder, and gods, she would not show fear – nor malice, nor menace, nor any of the other emotions registering through her.
Perhaps, for the first time in her life, she wanted to howl and bare her teeth and scream and rage at something.
“Amun,” she managed to say instead, digits curling over the edges of the glassware like a lifeline.
Her fingers shook over the rim of the jar, a steady rhythm of apprehension coiled down the notches of her spine. Gaze followed soon after, starting at the vessel, and then running over sand, until her head had to turn over her shoulder, and gods, she would not show fear – nor malice, nor menace, nor any of the other emotions registering through her.
Perhaps, for the first time in her life, she wanted to howl and bare her teeth and scream and rage at something.
“Amun,” she managed to say instead, digits curling over the edges of the glassware like a lifeline.
that could abash the little bird
that kept so many warm
that kept so many warm
