The cold touches me, too, but it is no bother; I’ve settled into the fact a long while ago that such discomforts are the least of my concerns. The ache of the frost helps keep me focused on moving forward and not becoming ensnared in the dark undulations of my soul beneath the calm and sad exterior that covers it. Dog silently bares her discomfort, the first ushering of our emotional bond suggesting that she is quite cold and miserly, and with a silent show of what little love I can feel for her, I wrap my tail about her haunches and pull her closer to my body, shielding her with a wing.

It’s a slow gesture, one that I don’t want to invite an end to this quiet, stolen moment of serenity in the maelstrom of my thoughts. Perhaps I should seek out Florabella again and more often, the gardening mare who reminded me of my sweet Purrhos, and hide within her warmth as I have Murdock’s; it is false, the sensation of life without a pulse, without dreams, but it is a reprieve.

Do I deserve such things, with what I have done?

He says nothing more of my family as I bleed it across the ice, the staunch of the flow of more interest to him than the fountain that had inspired a quick, invisible seal. That he genuinely means what he says is evident as he glances around him at the frostier parts of Helovia, a curiosity lingering in his eyes that gives the truth of it all away. I find it alluring, this blend of sinew and thought, and meet his smile with a downtrodden version of my own.

It brightens, some, as he offers what he can in my search. At first its simply to hide the grimace that threatens to take my face – traditionally, males had little to do with artifacts and the translation of such things, with only a small number of the men literate where as even the most lowly ranked female handmaid could read Elysian, some capable of many more languages than that. But this is not Elysia, and Quilyan had already paved a road for Murdock to earn consideration rather than immediate scorn.

I would have to teach him, of course – but that was no matter. He seemed he would be quick to learn, and the earliest etchings were primitive enough a child could decipher most of them.

His eyes slip to Skýlos more comfortably nestled beneath and behind my body and downcast wing and the sound of her thudding tail reaches my ears, the second offer falling from him striking me deeply; the only other who had offered me such things had wanted things in return. But this man? I take a hesitant, wavering breath as the realization that he is offering out of kindness strikes the tolling bell into a stunned silence.

I feel a sliver of water run down my cheek, freezing before it falls away.

Rain?

"Wh…Why?" I ask before I know it is leaving my lips, staggering back inwardly while remaining frozen in time on the exterior, the only show of my emotional maelstrom the stutter that breaks my word in two and the crystal of water suspended on my blue cheek. Why do you give me this kindness?

I do not know that he owes my blood for his life; a certain blunt and crass damsel had flown in to his salvation, trumpeting her cries of war. Oh, if only I did. If only I had been there to hear her as she sang out the song that had always flooded her savage soul.

Brighid, who had unchained her heart through the use of her strength, where I had only been able to beat it back with my logic and dreams while slowly losing my mind to a bitter, cold embrace.

I had no dreams to cushion me, anymore, and the thought is terrifying. How fast will I fade when I go? Will I still know who I am, even when no one else can see her?


C e a l e s t i s</style>
who knows how deep the heart runs</style>