(o) you're not the same, you died along the way

Maea

Rest against my pillow
like the aging winter sun

"Mh. Maybe." Her mouth twitched, despite herself amused by the non answer. Or perhaps it was simply relief, though exactly what she had been afraid of she couldn't say. For a moment longer she hovered in place, indecisive, but then a gust of wind at her back made up her mind for her, and pushed her a step into the glade. It was all it took; then she came padding on quiet feet, picking her way through tall grass and damp spots until she could seat herself on a mossy boulder. Not exactly far away, but decidedly out of reach of both arms and wings and whatever else he might decide to flail about.

Pale eyes made colorless by the multitude of vibrancy around them searched his face for a moment, then darted off. Took in the craft supplies strewn about, and the half-finished lantern he had set aside.

"Who are you making it for?" she asked, like this sitting together was completely ordinary. Like she had any right to ask, or receive answers.

One might be lulled into believing that she was completely calm and at ease where she sat, cross-legged in the ratty coat and frayed shirt and trousers her brother had yet to separate her from. Only her hands betrayed her, with the slight picking of threads at a hem. Constantly in motion, just like her thoughts behind the mask of serenity.

She had grown accustomed to shielding herself from some people.

Only wake each morning to
remember that you're gone