cold in the violence after the war
hope is a fire to keep us warm
The relief upon hearing the familiar lilt of her voice is immediate. As though every tense muscle quivering over her body had been released at once, she nearly sags before the happiness of Brinly’s arrival sends her surging closer. Almost without thought, she wraps her in an embrace. Her skin hardens to granite instinctively at the touch, recalling her to the moment.
But she doesn’t release her immediately. Too much had happened. Too many horrors. Too much heartache. For a moment, she clings, relief and joy and sadness all warring within her as she soaks in the fact of her presence, alive and whole and well. As she tries to erase the sensation of blood soaking her skin.
In the moment, she wants nothing so much as to hold her like this forever.
But when Brinly’s words register, she is brought inexorably back to reality. Snorting, ears flattening, she nips admonishingly at her neck, ignoring the wash of heat over her tongue. Drawing back, she scowls at her, blue eyes vibrant and alive with emotion in the dim, early morning light. “How could I not come to Pangea?”
“You shouldn’t have gone to Pangea,” she continues after a moment, faint petulance coloring her voice. Just as quickly however, her masked features fall, regret and sadness etching across her expression. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” Her gaze rises to meet Brinly’s. “I should have been.”
Brazen