a sunrise is absolutely free

even my darkness shines for you

Their houseboat is coming along; between the Taliesins, the kitchen is finished, cupboards and shelves filled with brick-a-brack and a stove almost always keeping the place heated or cooking something delicious for hungry demigods to snack on. And the bedroom, too, is all but complete - not that it needed much, given that it's not really a separate room and more just a pile of blankets and furs to stretch out on at night.

Ronin isn't anywhere near the boat this morning, though, and as the sky lightens to purple and pink with the onset of the sunrise, the Huntsman is running along the riverbank. His feet get itchy in the middle of the night at the moment, and whilst he's almost entirely sure it's the luxere to blame, it could be the sleeping beast in him too. Whatever the cause, he's been leaping fallen trees and sprinting through the forest since well before dawn, and only now is home in sight.

Falling to a halt, his chest heaving and sweat beading down the length of his spine, Ronin sweeps his dark hair out of his face and clambers up onto the houseboat. Slipping inside, it's a vague hope that he might have made it home before his husband awakens. He doubts it, though

the

DARKSTAR

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i've hidden all my fears in a book for only my eyes to see

He hasn't made it, no, but that's alright. Stirring just moments after Ronin left the bed, the shaky heartbeat he can feel on his finger tells him all he needs to know about where Ronin has gone and why. This morning the alchemist leaves the Huntsman to it, knowing that sometimes certain itches require other things, and some just didn't.

"..bring the coffee with you.." The pile of furs mumbles in a thickly accented voice. On the counter, Remi has made them each a cup of coffee before crawling back into bed. It's still steaming even; judging Ronin's return based on the rise and fall of his heartbeat and having gone through these motions at least once a week since the start of the season, Remi has gotten pretty good at it.

The furs grumble something that might be a demand or a plea, before they shift and raise like a great wing, ushering Ronin within.

With the coffee.

THE

ALCHEMIST

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