for dwc ❝ all i’ve ever wanted was for someone to save me. ❞ for your choice of characters?
Thank you so much, Sweets! ❤️❤️ I'm totally gonna go off my usual path and return to my Felassan+Camber verse for @dadrunkwriting 😅 I'm definitely procrastinating addressing my Solavellan fic....
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Fel watched as his new companion fletched some arrows she had apparently prepared before stumbling across him. Tightly wrapping twine, hand-woven from tall grasses, toward the end of the shaft where the quills were set in tacky tree sap. The woman, with her rare words and tangled hair, dark skin and pale eyes and sparse, tattered clothing—this "Camber" looked almost feral. She was not without her manners and graces, but she certainly appeared wild, even to him.
Her eyes flickered up toward him after a long period of ignoring his stare. Submerged briefly in the glacial cool lake of her gaze, breathless and chest aching. He attempted his typically easy nonchalance, sitting a mere yard away from her, stretching lazily across his rucksack. His vaguely smug grin and air of general indifference was a weak mask, though. Her gaze pierced right through him, like loosing one of her arrows.
"Why do you stare at me," Tone so flat, leaving the duty of question to her actual words.
"How can I not? There's not much to look at in these woods," Trying his best to be charming, "And what better view than my lovely rescuer? After all, all I ever wanted was somebody to save me."
The slightest, silent wrinkle of her nose was just enough expression to make her scoff almost audible to his imagination. She didn't roll her eyes, though he had the impression she very much wanted to.
"I do not believe that. You resent requiring aid, and you resent having been severed from the Fade," She tilted her head slightly, as if curious, "How did that come to pass?"
He cocked a brow at her, his wonder at her easy read of him, her sense of one's magic, once again piqued. He sighed, pursing his lips wistfully.
"I pissed off an old friend."
"You betrayed him?" Arching her brow in return, "You had a good reason."
He looked at her in surprise, "You sound so certain."
She shrugged, something almost like a smile, a sense of coyness, dancing over her unreadable expression. This woman was infuriatingly fascinating.
For the DADWC: The impression of hot sand at twilight, with the character of your choice!
She was raw and golden, like unlaced sunlight. Even now, he could smell the last grains of sand blown over the dune’s top with the last rays of of sunlight as they once blew through her hair. Her eyes remained as sharp as seaglass, blue mint and predawn mist. Her gaze was as steady steady as ever as her brother handed over the small package—darkened skin, freckle flecked as his wife’s, wish those same pale eyes, though periwinkle this time.“Eliana, "His bride suggested, sending the Inquisitor into a fit of tears."Little Eliana,” the Inquisitor cried onto his shoulder, kissing the mother relentlessly, unburdened by her soul, “I pray she hasn’t the visions of her cousin, or, if she has, the grace of her aunt.”Halesta held the babe fast in hand,“I love her, whether or not she should…nevermind. She is my gift from whatever creator there may be—”She gasped, arms outstretched around both twins, Camber and Somber, tightly hugged.“She is a gift and blessing of what is to come, I swear to thee…She will find protection in my arms, in the arms of my men and women, in the arms that claim neither and both. She had endless protection. Little Eliana.“ The Inquisitor sobbed onto the arm of her Sentry and of her Seeker, both having sworn their life on the child that rested below her.
"My bleeding out, is that what sets you free?" for DWC :)
Thank you so much, honeybunch! ❤︎❤︎ I’ve neglected Camber and Felassan for too long, so here’s some mush for @dadrunkwriting ❤︎
With the development of something bitter between his love and his pupil came the chill of vacant air at his side. Camber had withdrawn from him since they had arrived in Halamshiral, camping in the burnt-out remains of the alienage. It was Briala and her frequent visits, the way she spoke to him with such familiarity, half-sentences and meaningful looks. And the similarities between them: he had watched as Camber silently picked them out, eyes resting on each feature, one by one. Loose, dark curls; tan, freckled skin; similar in height and body, though Briala was slightly fuller in figure, better fed.
It was his fault somehow. Felassan looked over the small fire to Camber, sitting with her legs tucked under her chin, picking at the cuticles of her long, nimble fingers. Briala, too, had treated Camber coolly, even while engaging Somber in friendly conversation. The young man charmed the Ambassador with his usual easy, smiling manner, but his flickering glances between Fel and his sister were anxious. It was a strategic maneuver, unsubtly mentioning the last time they had eaten a full meal, two days before.
“I’m ashamed of myself! How thoughtless of me not to bring something,” Briala placed an apologetic hand on Fel’s forearm, “I’ll go fetch something right now.”
“I’ll come with you, if you do not mind,” Somber looked up at her eagerly, “I have never really been in a city.”
With a brief lament at the state of the alienage, she acquiesced; the two raised the hoods of their cloaks and slipped out into the night, leaving them alone.
“Camber?”
“Yes.”
“Briala and I, we’re not, were never—You…you’re nothing like her,” Unexpectedly fumbling, he hesitated, adding defensively, “Remember, you found me.”
She turned her eyes on him, sea-glass reflecting flames. She crossed her legs, leaning forward as her brow furrowed, her only outward sign of anger.
“You believe I am jealous.”
“Well, aren’t you?” Felassan sighing, his hands rising and falling with exasperation, “What else is it then, that I’ve done wrong?”
“If you tell me I should not be jealous or upset,” Turning cold so suddenly as she leaned back, like a winter night after the sun has set, “Then I shall not. I trust you.”
“Ma harel, da’len,” Her head tilted just slightly, momentarily confused by the change in language.
“Lying?” She mirrored his movement as he rose to his feet, meeting him as he came to stare down into her face, “If I act falsely, it is only in indulging you.”
“Humoring me isn’t pleasing me!” Nearly shouting in her face, he could once again feel the sun beneath her skin, “It’s insulting! I don’t want anything from you but the truth.”
She waited with lips pursed, dry and cracking with dehydration, no words forming behind them.
“What more do you want from me, Camber? Should I cut myself open, spill my insides for you to pick through?” Thinly rasping, scarcely holding back the lump in his throat, “Ar lath ma, Camber. Vir nadas.”
He watched as her eyes, still sharp, searched his face: he felt they trailed tiny cuts after them, so thin as to leave no evidence but the tiniest beads of blood. As the sound of rushing blood faded from his ears, he realized that she was holding her breath. Abruptly, she leaned up and, with a gentle hesitation, kissed him, as though hoping it was safe to do. His lips crushed into hers with furious adoration. He tasted sweetness on her, lips like honey and sugar on his tongue. When he pulled away, her eyes shone and she was pressed against him, body and soul.
The approach of easy conversation announced the return of their companions. Her arms were wrapped tightly around him, but she tucked her head underneath his chin, face turned from the door: not wanting to let go, but unwilling to share the moment between them. Fel merely relaxed into her embrace, feeling bold now that he had finally put words to the feeling that had starburst in his heart the moment he met her.
Thank you so much, honeybunch! ❤❤ Here’s a tender little moment between Felassan and Camber for @dadrunkwriting!! ❤
There were small hints that Camber had experienced some cruelty at the hands of others— Nothing that would be noticed by anyone that hadn’t spent the last few months studying her every movement. It was most evident when they were in towns or cities, passing through jostling crowds of strangers. It was in the way she recoiled slightly from the touch of men, both human and elf. The few times they had stopped to buy clothes, the tiniest flinch could be noted when the seamstress reached out to measure or adjust her. Even in their first weeks together, Felassan had wondered at the minute way she stiffened at his touch, as careful as he was not to startle her. It was something he understood all too well: some bruises are too deep to ever rise to the surface, some cuts are too deep to bleed. He was not foolish enough to ask about it, though, and she had never offered. Things had evolved between them now, of course. Her back pressed against him, her wild hair strewn across her face. His arm was curled around her waist and he tightened the embrace ever so slightly, drawing a quiet hum from her.
“Is something wrong?” She rolled to face him, whispering as her eyelids lazily lifted.
“Quite the opposite,” Pressing a kiss to her forehead, “I’m grateful you don’t mind when I touch you anymore.
“I did not say I minded it before,” She muttered against his throat, the sound of smile in her voice.
He wasn’t planning to press the subject, even before the feeling of her lips against his skin had distracted him. Instead, Fel allowed himself to sink into the constant heat radiating from her body, the rays of sunlight that were her fingers languidly clutching his shoulder. Breathily, she chuckled at the increasing thrum of his pulse, and he felt his blood stir in a manner he had nearly forgotten. He held his breath as her teeth grazed lightly along his collarbone; so easy, it would be nothing for her to break him.
“Camber….”
Felassan’s voice strained, thick with admonition. She drew back with a teasing purr to look up at him, a glimmer of something new and coy in her pale eyes. He kissed her lips, gently and slow, before pressing his forehead to hers. It would be so easy for him to make that night into something they weren’t ready for—painfully, temptingly easy. She seemed to understand what he didn’t say aloud, pressing her hand to his heart and tucking her head under his chin. He concentrated on the rhythm of her breathing to calm himself. She deserved more than he was able to give at that moment. He slowly followed her into sleep, chanting silently to himself. Not here. Not yet. Not without reverence.
happy dwc night!! "Who gave you such radiance?" prompt, hehe
Thank you so so much, sweetpea!! ❤❤❤ So, this is a verse convergence ficlet, that finally kinda addresses how Felassan is responsible for Halesta becoming Inquisitor? Or at least gives a vague idea. It’s mostly crap because I was more interested in self-indulgence than doing it right, so...I’m sorry? But it was fun to write, anyway!For @dadrunkwriting! ❤
Oh, and here’s what I’m using as Elvhen It’s not remotely correct, but whatevs.Garas: Come / EnterSavhalla: GreetingsHa’lethassan doesn’t actually mean shit? I mean, (Ha = old/wise/respected) + (leth[al] = family/kin) + (assan = arrow), but I just kind of made it up, cause “Uncle Fel” didn’t feel right.
Camber was eyeing him suspiciously, and he couldn’t blame her. This had to all seem…very strange. It was very strange. He had told her nearly everything up to this point, but how he would go about explaining this? All Felassan had told them was that he had received a letter from “an old friend”, and that they were headed for a rendezvous in godsforsaken Ferelden—worse yet, in Crestwood. Somber was pleased to go along, his usual chipper, unfazed self. But Camber was noticeably, ah, frazzled; much like the humidity’s effect on her hair. He sighed, nervously smoothing his hair back from his face. Felassan was unsurprised to find an attempt had been made to give the damp cave feel a somewhat more comfortable atmosphere. Torches had been fixed to the walls and, along with a small fire, were already lit when they arrived. Two desks had been brought in, covered with molding old maps, and there was an unmade bedroll spread out in the back corner. Crates of root vegetables and unleavened bread rested in scattered stacks alongside barrels of fresh water and ale. The familiarity of such hiding places brought back old memories. A soft rap at the makeshift door startled the trio, straightening themselves with quiet tension. Fel took a deep breath in, glancing quickly to confirm the twins were prepared.
“Garas.”
The door opened slowly with a creak that, to him, seemed histrionically ominous. Three cloaked figures emerged from the dark tunnel, the taller two flanking the shortest. With a quick, exasperated tug at the hood, the warm light revealed the pale face, fierce face that was hauntingly familiar. Eliana’s daughter was a near-spitting image; Felassan felt a bittersweet pride bloom in his chest. The Inquisitor herself was looking up at him, wearing a wry smirk he hadn’t seen since she was very young.
“All this covertness seems absurdly melodramatic, yeah?” Halesta looked around briefly before turning her grin back at him. “Hey, Ha’lethassan! I thought you were supposed to be dead?”
“Who says I’m not?” Fel couldn’t help but laugh, pulling her into a tight hug.
“Fair enough. You could be a ghost,” Laleal had removed her cloak and was sidling into the embrace. “You definitely haven’t aged a minute in the last two decades. Not that should be any surprise—You know, considering.”
“I missed you, da’Lala. Taking sufficient care of our Halie, I hope?” Planting a swift kiss on his pupil’s cheek before he turning back to the Inquisitor, “Who gave you such a radiance? Wait, what am I saying? It was your Mamae, of course.”
The sound of shuffling feet, followed quickly by a pointed cough, returned Fel’s awareness to his surroundings. There were three other people here who were clearly feeling awkward and confused. A tall, dark human stood behind Halesta and was regarding the reunion with fond amusement; Fel could feel the man’s magic like a tingle beneath his skin. Somber mirrored the human’s keen puzzlement and, to his relief, Camber’s expression seemed to relax slightly.
“Shit, how rude of me!” Halie perked up, looking to the twins, “This is Altus Dorian Pavus. Dorian, this is Felassan.”
“A pleasure to finally meet the illustrious ‘not-uncle Uncle’,” The mage gave a sweeping bow.
“Savhalla,” Glancing at Halesta with blatant skepticism as she squared her jaw, “An Altus of Tevinter, hm? What an interesting bedfellow for the Inquisitor.”
“—Save it,” Laleal flapped her hand dismissively, “His loyalty to Hals is so absolute, it’s borderline absurd. They’re joined at the hip.”
Uncertainty still knitting brows, he nodded to Dorian before turning to the twins. Camber had cocked an eyebrow, clearly denoting that her patience was quickly fading.
“Inquisitor, might I introduce Camber and her brother, Somber,” Halesta smiled warmly, clasping a hand with each sibling in turn.“They are from the Wastes. She, in fact, is the one who came to my rescue after Solas and I had our, ah, falling out.”
“Oh, is that what you’re calling it?” A jab aside, Halie directed her attention back to Camber; “I’d love to hear how you wound up here with Fel, when we have time. It must have been quite an adventure.”
“I have known Halesta and Laleal since their births,” Felassan smiled meekly at his companion, “Eliana, her mother, was my dear friend— And the reason we might just stop Fen’Harel yet.”
Camber’s eyes softened with understanding, she gently slipped her hand into his. He ignored Halie and Lala sharing a piquant glance, struggling to subdue their grins.
“Speaking of Fen’Harel,” Draping an arm over Laleal’s shoulder, Dorian leaned in conspiratorially, “We have quite a bit of work to do, I believe?”
“Ah, yes!” Felassan gave the group a wolfish smile, “Let’s get to it.”
Trying to figure out DADrunkWriting, so I'm going to start with a prompt for you! "Some things die over and over again" for whomever you'd like.
Thank you so much, darling! ❤❤This took entirely too long to write for how scant it is, and I am ashamed.For @dadrunkwriting ❤Anyway, here’s wonderwall Camber & Felassan....
Felassan stoked the small fire he had managed in the crumbling remnants of a once- opulent hearth. Somber had tossed himself languidly onto a tattered settee, now long limbs draped over the arms and seat as he slept. It was at the advice of the Ambassador that the trio had set up camp here on the furthest outskirts of Halamshiral. The dilapidated chateau itself was now overgrown after it had been abandoned; fallen victim to the lavish garden surrounding it, unattended and wild. Inside, the air was stale and the walls were slowly peeling. Camber had wandered off not a moment after they arrived, ever curious, to explore.
Scoff and aweing at the extravagance of Orlesians as well, no doubt.
The thought brought a small smile to his face, brushing his hands off as he stood. He turned to face the room and started, finding Camber standing just behind the settee where her brother dozed. She moved so silently and he still had yet learned to adapt, always startled when she appeared from seemingly nowhere. She looked up from Somber, meeting Fel’s gaze with her usual unreadable expression, but there was a softness about her eyes that he had only recently come to notice. She pressed a finger to her lips, signaling that he should stay silent. Without a sound, she moved into the foyer; Felassan found himself following her out into the night.
Outside, Camber stood with arms crossed and head lifted to the sky. She must have just tied her umber hair up; none of the usual strands covered her neck and he couldn’t help but to stare. A frigid wind blew strong, passing through their unseasonable clothing despite the thick foliage surrounding them. There was no indication that she even felt the cold, and considering the scalding heat that radiated unceasingly from her skin, it was no wonder. It made little sense then when he removed his cloak, and even less when he shrouded her shoulders with resolved delegation. Camber turned to him, eyes wide and lips parted in a rare show of astonishment. After a heartbeat, she gave a single sharp trill: bare feet on sand, the snap of bone—a laugh, he realized.
“We don’t need you catching a chill,” A smirk, a half shrug, dodging guarded sentiments with blithe flirtation. Blankly she blinked, confused by the adage.
“To fall ill, that is,” He chuckled, tenderness in his gaze and head unwittingly tilted to the side.
For the first time, Camber appeared timid: ducking her head and breaking eye contact, surveying the shadows of vegetation with a jittery urgency. After a long, anxious moment of holding his breath, silently admonishing himself for leering, she sighed. She turned, wearing the near-smile she saved exclusively for him. A stray curl fell from her hair into her softened face.
“My People have tale of this place, Dirthavaren.” To his bewilderment, she leaned against him; head tucked under his chin, the acute awareness of how her voice felt as it vibrated through her chest.“Cursed, they say. That anything that grows here is damned to infinite tragedy—to die over and over.”
“I don’t think so. I have faith that someday it will flourish,” His lips pressed to her hair, tucking the rogue lock behind her ear, “Take it from me, da’len. Not everything that dies stays dead.”
Merci beaucoup, mes ami! ❤❤Apologies to @dadrunkwriting, cause I’m pretty sure I missed headcount, but I am joining in anyway 😅😅😅 (I love you, Admins! I’m sorry I’m a garbage person!)
Be Safe (Come Back)
Pairing: Felassan x F!DalishVerse: Tranquil ArrowRating: General
He could feel her eyes on him, searching for any sign of discomfort as they crept along in the brushwood that skirted the curtain wall. Felassan was maintaining his composure fairly well, but the residual poison spreading through his veins made each step more taxing than the last. He controlled his breath, endeavoring to focus on meditative breathing instead of the screaming pain in his muscles. Camber kept just a half step behind him, gaze flitting consistently between his face and her next footstep, her concern warming his skin like small campfire. He thought he had, in his periphery, caught the rare sight of a concerned crease worry itself between her bistre brows, but he denied himself a second glance. They finally stopped upon reaching the segment of the “old” bailey, where the smooth block met coarse bricks set in cracked and crumbling mortar. He sighed, glad for the brief respite, but Camber turned to him with weight in her sharp sea-glass eyes. She placed a hand to his sternum and pushed gently, walking him back a step until his shoulder blades made contact with a tree.
“You must stay here.”
“No chance, da’len,” Arguing even as his body slumped against the tree, “You won’t get back out of there alive if you go alone.”
“It will be even less likely if I have to carry your dead weight along with me, Hahren,” She pinned him with that same look, and the corners of her lips hinted at something like a smile.
She was correct, of course. Sweat broke on his brow and his muscles began to shake under the burden of staying upright. Felassan wouldn’t be able to climb that wall in his current state.
“Somber can heal you more thoroughly than I was able, besides,” A momentary suggestion of regret flickered across Camber’s usual, carefully blank mien, “You must stay and rest. I will return to you soon—I give you my word.”
Her palm was still on his chest, calloused and warm as sunlight, and his pulse stuttered slightly, realizing how close she was. She must have felt it quicken, the thought barely formed before evaporating, replaced by the image of her staring up at him in the dark. If they had remained just like this for the next few days, he might have counted every freckle on her face by moonlight. Her breath was warm and sweet, plum wine and rosemary; she wetted her lower lip before tucking between her teeth. Hesitation hung in the air, heavy and perhaps a bit fearful— But she pressed through, brushing a swift kiss against his cheek, leaving his skin burning where her mouth had pressed.
“Rest, Fel,” Already pulling back, checking that her harness was fit, “And stay out of sight.”
“Same to you,” His voice shook, he swallowed hard, “Be safe.”
A roll of her eyes, a small smile, and Camber was scaling the bailey; nibble fingers finding fast hold in the slightest of pitted mortar. He watched as she quickly climbed to the top of the wall, the faintest glint of her smiling down at him before slipping out of view. She showed only resolve, no apprehension or fear. There was no doubt within her: To free her brother was her sole purpose. As though it had never crossed her mind how very in danger this would be. Circles had been unknown to her before he had told her of them, and her lone experience with Templars had been brief. She hadn’t any awareness of how merciless, how cruel they could be. Even without his magic, the effect of the Templars’ power, holding the Fade just out of reach of the Circle’s inhabitants. She was in that death trap, rescuing Somber, while he sat outside, unable to help. For the first time in ages, true fear bloomed in Felassan’s chest.
Hello! Guess what, I've brought you a bouquet of prompts made out of elder (compassion) and yarrow (cure for a broken heart), do you think that would work for tonight's DWC? Characters are up to you, whatever works best/has you most inspired!
WOW, okay, this got way out of hand somehow, and took me forever to write. I have no idea what happened. But, THANK YOU @suzumicchi!For @dadrunkwriting: Felassan & Camber, take 2.
Camber was like the deserts she came from, heat and arid silence. Her skin gave off endless warmth; he found himself imagining what it might be like, the touch of it. Her eyes were an oasis, or perhaps a mirage, difficult to hold in sight. He found his mouth dry whenever he stood close, and sweat gathered in beads on his brow. She was single-minded, it seemed—barely sparing the occasional glance his way. He was glad for that, at least. No one had so easily unnerved him since he awoke from his Uthenera, but there was something about her that made his pulse quicken…and he wasn’t sure if it was pleasant or not.
Setting up camp, he watched her. She moved more slowly than usual, almost sluggishly, struggling. With a weary sigh, she dropped limply onto her bedroll. He continued coaxing the fire and setting up the kettle for their broth, but still watched her as she rolled onto her side, facing away toward the quickly gathering dark. She had barely spoken since they met, relying mostly on glances and body language to respond to his sporadic monologues. If he wanted to figure her out, Camber didn’t seem to have any interest in helping his cause.
“Ah, are you, ah,” He found himself struggling, unsure how to approach her, “Are you not feeling well?”
A long silence followed; he was guessing whether or not she had fallen asleep when she sat up and turned to him. She seemed to be upset, but her face was so difficult to read: only the vague impression of a grimace.
“I am…scared, perhaps,” Her voice was sand in the wind, the memory of tribal drums, the chill of a lonely moon on a desert night; lower, indisputably feminine, wooden wind-chimes and fragrant sandalwood.
“Perhaps?” Felassan fought to keep the amusement from his voice as he lowered himself to sit near her.
“Hmph,” Huffing as she dug through her rucksack, pulling out two folded handfuls of different fabric, “I am embarrassed to admit it is a sensation I am familiar with.”
“Embarrassed that you’ve never been scared,” He chuckled softly, then carefully, “What is it, exactly, that you’re scared of?”
She stood before pausing; tilting her head in consideration as she began lifting the tattered fabric that barely began to cover her stomach. Somewhat startled by her apparent inexperience with the concept of shyness, Fel turned his head to stare into the fire. Even so…out of the corner of his eye her bespeckled form was visible as she changed, although indistinct.
“For Somber,” A sigh, and then a chuckle of awareness, “Are you concerned for my honor, averting your eyes?”
“Er,” Heat bloomed in his cheeks, frustrated, “Not concerned, precisely. Respectful.”
“Is shame a common credence in the North?” Again, the sound of amusement resonated in her tone, “I thank you for your consideration of my modesty, though I am clothed now.”
“Generally speaking, yes, the North values a degree of shame,” Felassan peeked back towards her, finding her covered as she had said, “Er, back to…Somber, is it?”
“Vin, Somber,” She sighed, dropping unceremoniously back onto her bedroll, “I fear for him. Where are they taking him? How is he being treated? What will happen if I cannot find him?”
He looked her over, trying—for his own sake—to ignore the gratuitous amount of leg visible, and noted her fresh clothes were just as tattered as the previous. She was newly clad in an open-sided skirt and a wrapped top with short, wide sleeves, cropped to expose most of her midriff. He wondered how she never seemed to feel the nighttime chill, and how he might go about acquiring her some…warmer clothing. Refocusing, he considered the matter at hand.
“Well, he’s most likely on his way to a Circle,” Felassan stretched his arms behind his head, trying to recall what he had learned from Briala, “Montsimmard is the closest, and luckily for him, remains one of the most politically stable for the moment.”
“A Circle? For summoning spirits?” Her brow furrowed and the corner of her mouth turned down.
“No, it’s…ah, how to put this? It’s like a fortress,” He hesitated briefly, fearing her reaction, “Except, it’s like a prison—a trap for mages. The humans see magic as dangerous, and so they keep them all locked away from the rest of us.”
Camber paled slightly, the color drained from her face. He saw her eyes flicker back and forth, as he had seen her do when calculating trajectory before loosing an arrow. She understood that this meant Somber was in greater danger than she had expected, despite Fel’s tactful withholding of the College’s current dissolution. He watched her clench her teeth and swallow hard; she looked like the smell of sunburnt air, the only warning before a sandstorm. She fought it back, though, too determined to be strong. This woman guarded her emotions like a treasury of secrets, prickly as a Quillback. Her chin only quivered once before she bit hard into her bottom lip. He felt as if he should do something, but expressing sympathy was not a skill he ever mastered.
“Er, Camber?” Steeling himself, he raised his arm towards her, “Would, ah—if it would help…?”
He trailed off, unsure of what he was even offering. She looked over at him, eyes wide in surprise and glistening with the threat of tears. And then she did something he did not expect. Crawling over to where he was, she sat down and leaned into him. The scent of her hair enveloped him in clove, sun-swept stone and oasis moonlilies. The familiar heat of her skin, even more intense with their bodies side-by-side, induced in him a mild kind of delirium. She was the horizon, smooth shadows pooling beneath dunes. And her voice, a gentle whisper of melancholy: Ma serannas, Haren.
