You're so cold
but you feel alive
It was hot. Under the crushing sun, by the blazing fire, Maea looked like a sculpture of ice ready to melt at any moment. Grime from the many old, unused things had stained her hands and smudged onto her face where restless hands wiped away the coils of hair that came loose from the tight braid. Soot had latched onto the skin, and where sweat had trickled down the temples, pale funnels of cleanliness shone like silver linings on the darkness of her cloud. There were streaks down the cheeks too, as though she had been crying. But when she looked up at Amun her eyes were dry. Distant, bereft of any humor, but ultimately dry.
"The water is easier to handle," she answered laconically. As if to prove the point, a spark shot off towards a patch of grass nearby, causing smoke to rise almost instantly. Without lifting a finger, Maea made the water in the bucket pool up and over the rim, oozing like so many serpents toward the newborn hazard, and with a hiss of steam the water smothered the embers before they could become anything more. Once the fire was out, she brought the water right back into the bucket; a little less than before, but still far more efficient than if she were to run for the well after each throw.
"I'm selling the farm. Have to clean out... well. Everything." And what could not be repaired or traded away? It would have to go. Glancing at the pile of broken and beloved things, she sighed. It was still sizeable, a heaping mound of heartache to go through. And this was just the outhouses.
"Should you be outside in daylight?" Eying the heavy cloak, she searched for the gaze of the man somewhere beneath the cowl, unsure of why he had come. Of whether she was in the mood for the kind of argument they'd had last time.
"The water is easier to handle," she answered laconically. As if to prove the point, a spark shot off towards a patch of grass nearby, causing smoke to rise almost instantly. Without lifting a finger, Maea made the water in the bucket pool up and over the rim, oozing like so many serpents toward the newborn hazard, and with a hiss of steam the water smothered the embers before they could become anything more. Once the fire was out, she brought the water right back into the bucket; a little less than before, but still far more efficient than if she were to run for the well after each throw.
"I'm selling the farm. Have to clean out... well. Everything." And what could not be repaired or traded away? It would have to go. Glancing at the pile of broken and beloved things, she sighed. It was still sizeable, a heaping mound of heartache to go through. And this was just the outhouses.
"Should you be outside in daylight?" Eying the heavy cloak, she searched for the gaze of the man somewhere beneath the cowl, unsure of why he had come. Of whether she was in the mood for the kind of argument they'd had last time.
lay your hands on me
one last time
MAEA
