Chernobyl

The Steppe is still. Silence wraps them as the snow falls, the only things stirring are them and the thinning snowfall that adds to the bone-white carpet already covering the barren hills. As the sun settles, disappearing, the snow is beginning cease. The weather is taming instead of bulking and rearing its enormous stormy head while night swallows day, which is what it typically does. Their gazes fit neatly together as she looks up and he looks down, the surreal connection produces electricity in her spine. The surface of her skin tingles and her hair stands on end beneath his snow collecting wing. She doesn't wonder if this is love or simply hormones, whether its a deeply rooted connection or just a natural reaction to loneliness. Despite her questioning nature she resists the instinct to do so and just relaxes beneath his feathery appendage. The warmth still encasing her, her ribcage expanding and falling against his own, her heart pulsing against his shoulder; their bodies meld as if cut from the same piece of material.

He encourages her, his touch rustling the glowing feathers tangled messily into her knotted hair. They have endured for a long while and still they seem firmly weaved into her mane after such a spanse of time (along with some random twigs and other small bits of debris).

She watches him ponder, her eyes set on him as he watches the fading crest of burning orange sink. She questions for a second whether she upset him but when he answers she smiles, playfully amused but not mockingly so. “That sounds pretty nice, actually.” She nods as he adds the last bit, light hearted laughter rising from her stocky chest. And then a question for her, she grins around the words, saying them confidently. “Oh yes, in fact I've heard there were some scrawlings of some sort in the Caves...hieroglyphs, that's what they were calling them.” She has become quite the spy as well, lurking behind and around other's conversations. Nothing important, just fun facts and treasure hunting clues. “I'm going to check that out at some point, too.” She looks out toward the falling sun and it's army of golden edged clouds. What little snow that was falling is now gone, but the chill remains, not that she can feel it. She looks up at him once again, her black eyes reflecting the dusky glow, the curves of her dark face lined with rosy-gold, “Next time we meet we should go there; you do owe me an adventure still.” She kisses her breath against his cheek, a pale cloud curling against his fur, she chuckles softly at her own affectionate jab.

I can't tell one from the other;
I find you, or you find me?