Oh, What Fickle Flame...

[Talulah]

Of course she comes. He is on the breeze at first, a distinct concoction of flame and earth. A mixture of life and lightning-ruin and singed hair and spruce; of all things familiar and dear to her. But his scent is dampened by something darker, coppery. As if the last year had been bloody haze he couldn’t quite scrub from his coat. She shudders to imagine. Her searches had been fruitless, and though she longed to find him then, things were far different now. There are stories she doesn’t want to tell him. There are decisions made that she can’t take back. She is glad he is here, and yet, she doesn’t want to see him. So of course, she comes. His voice is a bittersweet symphony as it draws her near. Each step is a heavy reminder to keep it that way. The last time she had approached his return with too much enthusiasm. That rift had long ago healed but its’ scars tell her to be cautious. It’s difficult, because she’s missed him so. Seeing Tiberios atop the hill rekindles something within Talulah. She had missed his enthusiasm and dry wit, his loyalty and passion. More than all that, she missed the mystery. They had both felt it when they were together, the first crackle of dry kindling. Every touch was exhilarating, every look was meaningful. If he hadn’t left…but then she’ll never know, will she? He had left, and he had taken the fire with him. The cooled embers that stir in her gut are nothing more than hope, now. She comes up beside him (his bad side, the one sacrificed to his gift) and says nothing at first. What can she say but the obvious? When the metal-mare can think of nothing else, she touches his cheek so softly that she can barely feel it herself. It’s enough to be sure, though. She has to be sure. “I waited for you,” she says, and the words feel like lidocaine numbing her tongue. The numbness fills her until she can’t feel her organs, her bones. It fills her as she thinks of what might have been – of what is, instead. “I searched for you,” she says then, almost accusingly. But it’s her own guilt that fuels her. There is hurt in his eyes and Talulah knows she will hurt him further, the longer they talk. The more he finds out. And it shouldn’t be this way. She shouldn’t be ashamed to tell her best friend the happiest occasion of her life. But he’s always been more than that – meant more than that. She keeps him in the dark a little longer. “Where were you, Tiberios?” t a l u l a h lady of the Dale

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