[SWE] It ends in fire

WESSEX out of the night that covers me Words aren’t always necessary; the first means of communication were body language and grunts from undeveloped vocal chords. The animals in them still know the meaning of a flick of an eye, a smile, a pair of pursed lips, or a hand extended in comfort and solidarity. There is no need to press it with Wessex, she is happy to keep silence in understanding that they are happy - no, utterly relieved - to see each other again. Now that they have confirmed that the other is really, truly, still made of flesh and bone, they can turn to lighter matters. Wessex takes hold of Amalia’s hands and engulf them in her own, giving the younger woman a tight-lipped smile and nod. Her hands squeeze, sending forth all the things she cannot say. Luckily for the stoic, she is saved from further emoting by Rory, whom she allows to engulf her rigid body in his arms. It is the first hug she’s had since Magrethe took to her death bed. Odd. Uncomfortable. But she doesn’t utterly despise it. After a moment, she gently eases out of the man’s grip and mumbles something like, “Just take me with you next time.” And that’s that. Matter closed until they’re alone again. She decides that news about needing new floorboards can wait till later, too. At least she tried to gather all the nails before she left - couldn’t have the dogs accidentally stepping on one and puncturing a paw. Ripping up his house is one thing - being negligent with his dogs is another. Amalia reaches for her hand again, and she lets it be taken, turning towards what is, undeniably, a rare and magical sight. She is bathed in light again, like she was when she was Accepted. And she has friends, if we’re going to be generous with the term. And she is alive. There is optimism for Flowerbirth. So she lifts her off-tune voice and begins to sing along, under her breath, just for her neighbors to hear.   black as the pit from pole to pole i thank whatever gods may be for my unconquerable soul