meet me where the falling stars live
i will wait for you
You don't need to save me would be an easy retort; I don't need saving equally so. But neither rises to her lips, and her mental voice remains free of argument. She is too spent to fight him anymore, too bolstered by the faith of him and her goddess. Sometimes she does need to be saved; sometimes he must be the one to save her. Next time is my turn, she promises, almost a laugh, something like humor under the earnest tone. One day it will be her saving him, giving back even a little of all that he has offered her.
The promise to carry her, stubborn and proud, earns another burst of amused warmth. Of course he can, and of course he will; she is the one who has to allow it, to accept that she cannot to it all on her own merit, her own strength. Okay, she says silently into their bond, exhaling the last of her resistance, her denial. But only because you insist.
Then, slipping into the form of the otter (if she must be a burden, at least she can be a lesser one) Amalia settles deep into her lover's embrace, steeling her fragile patchwork heart for the onslaught of facing the world.
The promise to carry her, stubborn and proud, earns another burst of amused warmth. Of course he can, and of course he will; she is the one who has to allow it, to accept that she cannot to it all on her own merit, her own strength. Okay, she says silently into their bond, exhaling the last of her resistance, her denial. But only because you insist.
Then, slipping into the form of the otter (if she must be a burden, at least she can be a lesser one) Amalia settles deep into her lover's embrace, steeling her fragile patchwork heart for the onslaught of facing the world.
day and night
