it's still my heart to sell; dovev

[leliana]

I know what it is but I'm hoping that all is well
no harvest of green but it's still my heart to sell

“Why?”

He question hung in the air between the, soft and unassuming, her fatigued eyes tracing the now almost familiar lines of his body, relief clear in the way he stood. She had not asked why he bled every time that she saw him, why lacerations adorned his body, contusions blossoming beneath the bone and flesh. She did not demand answers from him, recognized that she was unlikely to receive them. Instead, she just let a small frown knit her brown, red lips pressing together in concern. What hurt him so? Who enjoyed it?

At his command, she could not help the small smile that tugged at her mouth, weary as it was. “You mean ‘come please,’” She was not used to being ordered around, bending like a young sapling to the words of others; she was not raised to it. In truth, she was hardly raised at all, save the watchful eye and guidance of Magnus—but he had not been charged with her daily upbringing, just her protection. So she had grown wild and free beneath the vast Tephra sky, learning her way and carving her destiny out next to Exist.

Still, she could not deny the tug in her chest—the need to follow him.

So, despite her initial reluctance, she stepped forward, bringing herself out of the cool, lapping water of the tide, wings falling downward so that the edges of them could trace the sand as she walked. Her eyes did not leave him, questions flickering in their depth alongside the concern, but she acquiesced to his request. She walked silently behind him, wings dissolving to familiar copper, the metal glinting beneath the silver, watery light of the moon, the weight of them reassuring as the hard edges pressed to her side.

When they reached his home, she came to a stop, studying it. It was beautiful; the green of it, the moss that crawled down, the cool floor. She could see why he had chosen it. But still—that wasn’t what drew her eye. Instead, she focused on the solitary nature of the place, how he’d chosen upon a spot that was so far removed from where others may roam, as if purposefully shielding himself from potential company.

“It’s lovely,” she commented in her voice of fog, dipping her fatigued head in acknowledgment of what he showed her. And then, because she could not help herself, she followed up, voice softer, reaching out to him as quietly as her healing had. “But it must get very lonely out here.” She ached to reach out and touch him, to bring relief with a brush of muzzle or to bring herself to cheek to cheek, but she resisted the urge, folding it back into herself. It was unlike her to deny her instincts, but she felt the distance between them almost physically and instead, she dipped her head shyly, exhaling quietly into the silent night air.

I put everything I had into something that didn't grow
like going on a wild hunt, shooting arrows without a bow