amaris

She felt the fire first, its searing heat scorched it way down her spine, it's blinding light illuminated all that was wrong within her, and always, it burned. A moan, a groan might have breathed its way from her golden muzzle, her brows knitted with pain as her eyes fluttered against pale creme lashes. It wasn't until the remnants of the infection were seared away that the girl realised the fire was soothing, not burning, that it was the lingering illness which so painfully fought against the purifying effects being thrown upon her. The girl breathed deep now, a sigh filling her lungs, exhaling just as she realises she is within the embrace of the one she has missed all this time, breathing in the scent of kitsune and desert horse with sharp relief. The alleviation of the infection was bliss; the realisation of her cousin - no, truly, her sister in all ways except the nearness of their blood - was euphoric.

The girl leans into the embrace, extending her muzzle to nearly scoop the dark bundle that rests at her chest, purring a deep song within her that was unique to the draconic heritage her blood allowed. The fire within had purged the infection, and now it lent her strength, so that she might walk to the oasis and further replenish herself.

But none of that mattered compared to the immediate and all-consuming need to simply hold, and be close to her sister of desert sands and fiery hearts. "Tandavi," the dragon-child murmurs, her voice parched and crackly, her tone deep and loving all the same. "Natraj," she adds, brushing her whiskered chin along the dark fur of the creature bundled by her. And finally, golden pools peek out from behind pale lids, having remained shut for this long in fear that like a ghost or a myth, her beloved sister would cease to exist - or in fact, never have really existed at all - but when she beheld the frame that was reminiscent of family and familiarity she could not stop the tears that sprung to them. Her strength was not up to the shuddering release of such emotions, however, and she found herself gasping for breath once again.

"-I'm... okay," she murmured as she coughed the last of the desert sand and muck up from her lungs.

"I love you too," it was barely a whisper, a breath passing through her lips, but she had to say it, with a small smile upon her caramel lips to puntuate it - and to say all the things her voice wasn't up to vocalising yet - I'll never leave again, I'm sorry, I'm a wretched fool, please forgive me, please love me and hold me and never let me go again. The child, looking so much younger for the weakness that still marked her frame, rocked herself to gather her limbs beneath her, but then had to rest one more - each motion drained what little strength the healing had offered her. Her progression would be slow, painfully so, but it would be progression nonetheless.