A note, in Rexanna's fine hand, was not what he had expected that day. Firstly, to hear from her at all since the difficult conversation they had during LongNight, but secondly for her writing to be so clear. It took him a little while to realize that her eyes must have been restored for such a thing to happen, and he exhaled softly in relief when he did, pausing to scrub Vaya's ears before he went back to hauling hay up to the loft in the barn.
He was in no rush while the sun was in the sky, but once the golden orb turned to orange and then red, setting in a glorious blaze of fiery sky and purple clouds, he kissed Rory and made his way towards the Glade.
He dressed in quiet colors as he so often did, neutral shades of tan and grey, accented with pale green. It made him a wraith moving through the trees to the place where he and Isla used to meet, once upon a time, to study fire flowers and coax luxere. He had sat with her here, after her Ascension, and held her hand as they had talked, and he had been curious, naive and innocent in comparison to what he had lived through since.
Before so much blood had been spilled.
But his stubbornness had already cost him dearly with Sam. He did not want to lose Rexanna, too, and he found he didn't have to force a smile as he saw her seated on one of the glowing stones, the picture of demure grace, albeit dressed in shadows that gave her a waxen, corpse-like pallor. "Hello, Rexanna," he called softly. "How are you doing?" Since broken bones and fluid bleeding clear upon a table, healing magic availing little as he held her broken body steady and helped to splint her wrists so no more damage was done until Zuriel could staunch the flow of her life. Since eyes eaten away to nothingness, and a stately helplessness tucked away into a backroom while fire raged towards her too-flammable flesh.
Since Queens, and votes, and talk of councils to try and herd the fiercely independent people of the Hollowed Grounds, who all agreed they needed someone to deal with the ever-increasing mix of outsiders, but couldn't agree on who should do it.
He was in no rush while the sun was in the sky, but once the golden orb turned to orange and then red, setting in a glorious blaze of fiery sky and purple clouds, he kissed Rory and made his way towards the Glade.
He dressed in quiet colors as he so often did, neutral shades of tan and grey, accented with pale green. It made him a wraith moving through the trees to the place where he and Isla used to meet, once upon a time, to study fire flowers and coax luxere. He had sat with her here, after her Ascension, and held her hand as they had talked, and he had been curious, naive and innocent in comparison to what he had lived through since.
Before so much blood had been spilled.
But his stubbornness had already cost him dearly with Sam. He did not want to lose Rexanna, too, and he found he didn't have to force a smile as he saw her seated on one of the glowing stones, the picture of demure grace, albeit dressed in shadows that gave her a waxen, corpse-like pallor. "Hello, Rexanna," he called softly. "How are you doing?" Since broken bones and fluid bleeding clear upon a table, healing magic availing little as he held her broken body steady and helped to splint her wrists so no more damage was done until Zuriel could staunch the flow of her life. Since eyes eaten away to nothingness, and a stately helplessness tucked away into a backroom while fire raged towards her too-flammable flesh.
Since Queens, and votes, and talk of councils to try and herd the fiercely independent people of the Hollowed Grounds, who all agreed they needed someone to deal with the ever-increasing mix of outsiders, but couldn't agree on who should do it.
