from @oh-no-another-idea <3 looking for need, nothing, enough, and extend in salt and brine. i feel the need to remind everyone that i'm allergic to shutting the fuck up
She busies herself warming a few large stones in the hearth. Stian won’t notice if she slips one of the furs from the main room into the cellar to keep the outsider warm. She carries two down the stairs to the cellar. The outsider is still conscious but fading fast. She needs to get his wet clothes off.
Stian’s fillet knife is sitting on the table. Meja picks it up, flinching at the flash of light off the blade. She'll think of something later to fix the man’s clothes, but for now she’ll have to cut them off.
The outsider is mumbling what sounds like a prayer, or perhaps an apology, when Meja returns with the knife. His gaze slides to her, glassy and dull. There is no fear now, only quiet resignation.
“You’re the best navigator a captain could ask for,” Kamon says proudly, and Reijka preens. “Normally, we would go that way, but this time we’re going to be sneaky and go around to the other side of the island to get past some people who might not want us to leave.”
Reijka clutches her serpent tighter and steps closer to him. “Are we... do we have to play a game?”
Meja closes her eyes, shame rolling through her.
“Only if you want, darling,” Kamon says. “If you want, I can do the hard part and you and I can just look at the stars. Nothing is going to hurt you when I’m here, okay?”
Meja almost doesn’t hear Reijka’s reply. “I think...I think I just want to look at the stars,” she whispers.
“That’s alright,” Kamon says, and Meja opens her eyes to see him tuck Reijka more securely against his side, wrapping her in his cloak. “I love to look at the stars with you.”
He finishes his coughing fit and collapses back onto the sand, his breathing ragged and shallow. Meja takes a small, shaking step towards him and his eyes flick to her, widening. His feet scrabble on the sand as he tries to drag himself away from her. He doesn’t get far, his shaking limbs refusing to hold him. Words spill from his lips, a slurred mess of trading tongue. Meja’s fingers tighten around her makeshift weapons. He is a trespasser.
He is dying. She takes another trembling step towards him. He chokes out something else, holding up one hand to protect his face. Meja has to kill him.
She’s close enough now to see the depthless brown of his eyes. He can’t be much older than her, maybe even younger. She hesitates.
The outsider struggles to move again and collapses. She could leave him here, let the cold kill him. He will die soon without help. Meja is still standing over him, shivering nearly as much as he is.
He looks so scared.
Stian is sitting on their chopping block, staring out at the ocean. Meja offers him the stew wordlessly, afraid of saying the wrong thing again. He takes it with a grunt and sips. Meja wrings her hands behind her back, waiting for him to speak.
“The full red moon is in a week,” he finally says. He continues to eat, so Meja folds her hands in front of herself. “I want to be sure we have something to celebrate this time.”
Meja doesn’t flinch or blink. A good wife listens to her husband, trusts him and his judgment. She certainly doesn’t complain or cry when her husbands asks her to perform her duty.
taglist (ask to be added <3): @oh-no-another-idea @k--havok
passing the tag on to @memento-morri-writes @zmwrites @lyssa-ink and anyone else who wants to join to find blink, drag, close, and fast
