to be made of sunshine is beautiful
to be the light and the warmth and to be loved
Another walk on the sands in the dead of night, hoping Nate would appear, hoping he was nearby, hoping there was some god damned salvation in the midst of all this turmoil. Perhaps he’d turn up in between the contortions of shadow, and she would swallow down the trail of bile in her throat, the worry, the apprehension, that he’d found fire and lit himself apart. Her lantern lifted, she and Fangorn glided along the dunes, eyes catching the bewitching, enigmatic arc across the sky, the telltale sign of sunset poignantly grasping down into the ethers, and a prayer rose from her lungs; to the lady who ruled the night. “Safrin, is there going to be a way to fix this?”
She didn’t expect an answer, and the wind curled around her in a steady stream of silence. Strength ensured she didn’t tremble or shake, a deep, inherent trace of mettle and grit contorted into the fibers in her joints, muscles, flesh, sinew, and bones, and her soul would withstand a lot more.
But could Sunjata? Could the rest of them, coiled amongst their wounds and fevers?
The girl turned to the ocean, staring out over its expanse, standing still as it pushed at her toes. Could the Ascended be out there, in the mystical void, where he didn’t need to breathe, and only needed to sink, to descend, to become the opposite of his race, and flicker into the fathoms? Where they couldn’t reach him? Where he could hide?
Her eyes narrowed, and remembered their distaste of water. So instead, she lowered and crouched before the sea, proferring, extending, one more fraction into its midst. A little ivory stone, remarkably like the one Safrin had granted and shared with her seasons upon seasons before (but not the same, for it was cherished and beloved, safe in her wares) was held in her grasp. It reminded her of moons, of beings in the sky, of celestial wakes that might know far more than they ever could – and she tossed it, as if a wish would come true, as if a plea could be heard. “Please let me find him.” An offering in the begging circumstances, before she had to turn away – treading further along the shoreline, following no pathways, no hints, no clues.
She didn’t expect an answer, and the wind curled around her in a steady stream of silence. Strength ensured she didn’t tremble or shake, a deep, inherent trace of mettle and grit contorted into the fibers in her joints, muscles, flesh, sinew, and bones, and her soul would withstand a lot more.
But could Sunjata? Could the rest of them, coiled amongst their wounds and fevers?
The girl turned to the ocean, staring out over its expanse, standing still as it pushed at her toes. Could the Ascended be out there, in the mystical void, where he didn’t need to breathe, and only needed to sink, to descend, to become the opposite of his race, and flicker into the fathoms? Where they couldn’t reach him? Where he could hide?
Her eyes narrowed, and remembered their distaste of water. So instead, she lowered and crouched before the sea, proferring, extending, one more fraction into its midst. A little ivory stone, remarkably like the one Safrin had granted and shared with her seasons upon seasons before (but not the same, for it was cherished and beloved, safe in her wares) was held in her grasp. It reminded her of moons, of beings in the sky, of celestial wakes that might know far more than they ever could – and she tossed it, as if a wish would come true, as if a plea could be heard. “Please let me find him.” An offering in the begging circumstances, before she had to turn away – treading further along the shoreline, following no pathways, no hints, no clues.
to be made of sunshine is painful
to be too hot to touch, too far away to reach
MELITA
