She wants to stop him.

She wants to place a gentle hand across his mouth, and have him know by the quiet gesture alone that what he is about to say is not the right thing for these quiet, dark moments. Of course she does, because as he starts his sentence she doesn’t realize that quietly he is practicing his own learned methods to keep them safe, more physical than her own, more tangible. She almost does — she opens her mouth to speak, to steer the conversation elsewhere — but she is too late. He says it all, every word: “Sometimes they do.”

Three words is all it takes to steal the breath from Willa’s lungs, and the act itself is so forceful that Eilidh can almost hear it.

She can only hold her breath as Willa spins on him; her heart can only ache for her. Leilan continues though, he goes on to ask for a name and suddenly Eilidh comprehends his maneuver. She smiles softly to herself for the knowledge while she hopes Willa can see what he is trying, too. She does, but there is no smile, no soft ‘thank you’ for his efforts when it happens. She tells them his name though, and when she does Eilidh repeats it beneath her breath, learning its hills and valleys and looking up as she does so as though the name itself is riding on her irises so that it can flip backwards into her memory for safekeeping.

“Just saying his name…”

Here Willa’s honeyed voice drifts away, and Eilidh looks inside herself and finds she can relate. She didn’t want to say His name either. Deep down she knows he is no more powerful for it, but something about breathing life into his existence by simply acknowledging the letters of him feels like a betrayal. She knows what that feels like, even if she doesn’t fear him anymore.

“My mother loved the stars,” Eilidh says then, looking upwards again to find them there in the blackness, shining down across their backs. Here and there they pulse, as though drawing in colossal breaths of the night.

“She said they were a light in the darkness.”


 

Willa seems to soften as she acknowledges the stars.

Like the lines of her body are spun together with the memories of her father, and to remember him is to remember the way she was then, too. Even as her shoulders relax, even as her bones hold firm rather than tremble, it’s hard to imagine that there was ever a time in her life where she was at peace, with her eyes as wild and white as they had been. They are all made up of grit and bone, bound together by muscle and flesh. In theory, built for survival — hardy enough.  It’s a wonder to think how in spite of all of that, they are still so fragile.

But the world can break anyone it wants.

Lost in her own thought, Eilidh listens quietly as Willa explains her distrust to Leilan who is holding firm in his resolve to save them. She admires him, and his determination, even if she doesn’t say it in these moments. It would be so much easier to walk away, to fade back out with the ever-lengthening shadows that he came from, unburdened. He stays instead, dodging assault after assault to his character (however unintentionally), because he’s better than that — better than most, Eilidh would wager to believe.

“You too, Eilidh.”
“What about you?”

When he looks at her she smiles gently for him, but she does tilt her head in contemplation. She isn’t frightened, the syllables of his name hold no power to her, but it wouldn’t solve what happened to her either. Beyond that, she knows her monster, as it were, could not be stopped even if a thousand men as kind-hearted as Leilan is vowed to erase him. She will tell him though, she decides, because his courage is deserving in her eyes.

So, she opens her mouth to speak, is about to tell him ‘My father,’ but regrets their relation enough that she thinks better of it.

“Carnage.” She says finally, settling.

“But I would be okay with going with you to see the place you call home… either of you.”

Willa speaks again, drawing Eilidh’s eyes back in her direction to meet her gaze, now steadier.

“This meadow is the only home I’ve ever known,” she answers, and though the words alone seem sad and heavy the expression on her face can only be described as wistful.

“Of course you’re welcome to stay with me here, but I understand wanting more. If you wanted to see Nerine I wouldn’t be opposed to travelling with you, if it helped.”