"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
Every day is a lot of days, Winslow points out as if this is a bad thing - but Tamlin only smiles brightly and nods. It was a lot of days - days they could spend with her tucked beneath his wing to avoid rain or snow, days they could race and laugh, days they could run with the pack (though he’d be running on small stubby puppy legs), days they could spend in peaceful silence he’d undoubtedly break with a stupid joke.
He wanted them all. And his hope flares when she moves towards him again, and just like with his wing he tilts his head up slightly so she can trace his jaw. And that easy heartbeat he had just a moment ago now races as Winslow places her nose on his throat and he feels a pleasant tremble trace through his body at that contact.
The rest of the world ceases to exist for him and if only she knew, he didn’t think she could ever think she’d be a reason for his unhappiness. His warm eyes close when her lips find the corner of his mouth and he can only just manage a breathy whisper over the lump of nerves and happiness in his throat. “I don’t think that’s possible.” Tamlin’s eyes open and he smiles with her muzzle there on the crease of it. “But if it is, I can promise to be honest - and I hope you’ll do the same.”
He inhales to steady himself but the breath he drags in is full of her scent. And he knows that even though he would let her go, he would not chase her, it would break his heart. How could her absence do anything else when he’s surrounded by her now? There is at least enough sense to not say this. If she stays, it needs to be because it’s what she wants - and not just to protect his heart that is already hers.
“Maybe it’s okay if we get it wrong sometimes. I’m going to be learning as we go too, Winslow. I don’t know what staying will look like all the time but I think it’ll have a lot more of this.” And his soft muzzle moves across her cheek, his continued words quiet closer to her ear. “And even if we need or take space we’ll always find each other again.” Because as lost as Tamlin is in her right now he knows that, realistically, staying does not mean sticking together absolutely all the time. There will be days when they drift one way or another but maybe they’ll drift back together again at night.
Or… maybe they should drift apart during the night. For once in his life, Tamlin finds a reason to despise the fact that he will become a skeleton when the sun goes down. Winslow deserved more than cuddling up to a pile of bones every night or to be touched by one on her soft cheek like she was staying with an animated corpse. Was this why his father disliked it so much? It is an odd feeling, being so troubled by something he’s been his whole life, and he’s thankful that his nose is pushed gently into her mane again because there would certainly be a frown if it weren’t for her proximity.
