SHIELD
we watched the night under moonlight mixed in ocean air
the salty breeze tickled our necks
and we counted galaxies forgetting boundaries,
imagined reaching for them,
like for each other
There's a restlessness that ways follows Longnight, a heaviness in the sunlit air for the first few days to come. Counting losses, assessing damage- it is always the same year after year, the victory of survival tainted black by shadows of the lost.
It does not surprise her that Deimos feels this. She is just rising as he slips outside, and it is a few quiet minutes before she follows, a cup of tea for herself in one hand, another for him held close beside. Her footfalls are soft as she steps out of the backdoor, leopard-padded feet absorbing some of the lingering cold, though the hair on her bare legs rises as she settles onto the step. She is wearing nothing beyond one of his woolen shirts and a pair of shorts, her long hair braided messily down her back. As she clutches the mug her toes curl slightly, pleasure from the heat pulsing through her body.
She is content, at first, to watch in silence, offering her presence as solace or sanctuary, finding comfort in the unspoken things. But then he seems to get stuck in a mud puddle of all things, and Amalia cannot help it: resting her elbows upon her knees, the Shield leans forward with amused smile. "Having some trouble there, Deimos?" she wonders, voice lightly teasing in the cool morning air.
It does not surprise her that Deimos feels this. She is just rising as he slips outside, and it is a few quiet minutes before she follows, a cup of tea for herself in one hand, another for him held close beside. Her footfalls are soft as she steps out of the backdoor, leopard-padded feet absorbing some of the lingering cold, though the hair on her bare legs rises as she settles onto the step. She is wearing nothing beyond one of his woolen shirts and a pair of shorts, her long hair braided messily down her back. As she clutches the mug her toes curl slightly, pleasure from the heat pulsing through her body.
She is content, at first, to watch in silence, offering her presence as solace or sanctuary, finding comfort in the unspoken things. But then he seems to get stuck in a mud puddle of all things, and Amalia cannot help it: resting her elbows upon her knees, the Shield leans forward with amused smile. "Having some trouble there, Deimos?" she wonders, voice lightly teasing in the cool morning air.
SWORD
the stars lined our heartbeats,
and we fell
so much harder,
than we ever had
before
