He was out calling to ghosts in the rising mist of falling night, and at first he thought that was what the spectral figure approaching was. Pale but for a tattered black shawl around her shoulders she drifted almost soundlessly across grass still damp with melted ice and the last of the Flowerbirth rains (and blood, and mud, and less kindly things). The motion caught his eye, turning to face the spirit called home by lantern light and limbo's song and for a moment his heart caught in his throat as white hair and pale skin bespoke a spirit he had long since lost and never thought to find again within the Hollowed Grounds' bounds.
"Maea?" he breathed, the name filled with pain and prayer and a heartaching loss. One of his Loreseekers. One of his friends. But as long as she had been merely missing there had been the faintest of misplaced hopes that she might return again someday.
Not like this, though. Not a wraith in the night when so many more had already been lost or wounded deeply.
But then she came closer and he saw, in the unflickering white light of his lantern, the dew that dampened the hem of her dress. The rise and fall of her chest. The footprints she left behind in the trampled grass. He drew a breath, flinging a prayer to the old gods as a whole as he stepped forward and tried to wrap his arms fiercely around her, pulling her close in blatant disregard for the personal space he had once kept so zealously between himself and all others.
So much had changed in the past year. So many had died a mere day before.
"Gods most fortunate, I thought I'd lost you, too," he whispered, his hug gentle but firm if she allowed it.
"Maea?" he breathed, the name filled with pain and prayer and a heartaching loss. One of his Loreseekers. One of his friends. But as long as she had been merely missing there had been the faintest of misplaced hopes that she might return again someday.
Not like this, though. Not a wraith in the night when so many more had already been lost or wounded deeply.
But then she came closer and he saw, in the unflickering white light of his lantern, the dew that dampened the hem of her dress. The rise and fall of her chest. The footprints she left behind in the trampled grass. He drew a breath, flinging a prayer to the old gods as a whole as he stepped forward and tried to wrap his arms fiercely around her, pulling her close in blatant disregard for the personal space he had once kept so zealously between himself and all others.
So much had changed in the past year. So many had died a mere day before.
"Gods most fortunate, I thought I'd lost you, too," he whispered, his hug gentle but firm if she allowed it.
