Let the shadows fall behind us - wound, any

[Tangerine]

Tangerine

In the middle of the night, I go walking in my sleep

Even in the autumn dawn dreams cling to her. Even as she walks across the open grassland, under the rays of golden sunshine, a host of spectral companions accompany her thoughts. They never leave her now. Her thoughts are not her own in these days when unrest grows and blood has been spilled in the name of pleasure.

When she sleeps the unwritten names of the countless dead pass before her - merrily they march into the darkness rising in the West. With veiled eyes, she mourns, on her knees, as the stars wheel above and time passes her by. She dreams of battle cries and vivisection and her rest leaves her weary.

But she always has a smile for him, her medicine, her love. For in her waking moments he is her shield, he is her angel and her comfort. 

Tangerine had never called land or other's bodies her own - she had never believed that anything other than her own skin belonged to her. She will not step forward, proud and jealous, to stake claim to his flesh with her voice;
He is mine.

Even if she knows - deep below these mortal jealousies- that he is already hers. 

Even if their quiet smiles and gentle camaraderie are a thorn in her side.

Even if she had once, in a dream, and it felt so good

But her dreams are not always true, they are only vivid. He needs her; this diligent honey-bee, this woman who fills a void Tangerine could never even aspire to half-occupy. It is undeniable. This woman makes Warrick happy. 

So as she calls her name, a few years later than she should have, it is not with venom or with pride.

"Wound," She exhales the word into the wind and the invisible ghosts fall away from her. But she is unsure if it has reached the dark mare upstream, unsure of what to say next - she only knows that it is time. These two souls love the same, profoundly, severely, and that it cannot be wrong for them to finally meet. 

@[Wound] or anyone other than Warrick