Frey
For a moment Frey says nothing, and then all at once they are everywhere. They surround Sunjata not just like a rainstorm; they become one. They shroud him in a mist that touches him everywhere, cleansing and freeing, crisp but not uncomfortable. They smell of earth and water, of petrichor and morning mist. A spray of laughter coats the Flood’s skin, as lips of rainfall press against his chin, his cheeks, his throat.
“Only this…” The thunder of Frey’s presence rumbles. “Allow yourself to heal. There are ways of carrying him with you that do not bruise or fracture. Find them.” Softly said despite the velvet purr of their presence, Frey lingers as long as Sunjata does, remaining as a cloud.
~FIN
“Only this…” The thunder of Frey’s presence rumbles. “Allow yourself to heal. There are ways of carrying him with you that do not bruise or fracture. Find them.” Softly said despite the velvet purr of their presence, Frey lingers as long as Sunjata does, remaining as a cloud.
~FIN
