She was lost at sea, so far away from him even when he was inches from her skin. A storm brewed above them, a warning, foreboding. It had kept so many others away from her, hadn't it? But Kaj was the Storm Bringer and the Sun in one, he could not be frightened by the thunder and rain of her sorrow and fury. She could not hide from him, not if he truly sought her. But he allowed her her privacy, her time to ruminate, to wallow in that misery that stung and caught in his own throat. She was so beautiful to him then, in that moment, because even when she seemed to be torn apart by the winds of her own despair, she stood strong and stolid in her own storm. She faced that pit of darkness with a warrior's brow and a heart too full of love that had no familiar outlet any longer. So he waited beside her, because it was all he could offer her. Whether it meant anything to her or not was not something he could discern, but a quiet whisper in the back of his head truthfully confessed that he hoped it did.

Even when she stilled, when she trembled so finely and delicately that it seemed unfitting for her, he weathered on. A rock. Unmoved. She jerked against him, too rough, but he flared his nostrils and shared his scent with her, taking her in selfishly to keep as his own as well. He waited for her, waited for her decision, for her to see that nothing she could do in that moment could make him think any less of her. He could be so many things, from warrior to brother to lover. Why could she not do the same? Feel as if she could? She danced towards him, a tremulous chord that drew her closer, and he echoed it with a tilt of his frame towards her, inviting, promising shelter should she seek it. He could carry their burdens for the both of them, if she only asked him. He would lead her out of her darkness because he could see, somehow, that she was more than deserving of it. That she had been left so alone, for so long already, itched beneath his skin and ground his teeth together. He could only hope it was therefore self-imposed.

As he spoke he lifted his tired gaze to her face intermittently, and lost his breath to a sudden wave of shock to see the dips and curves of her face wet with tears he hadn't let himself shed. Ones that she had shed for him. He choked, plainly, there for her to see, to realize. Was shocked into a stumbled step toward her, she with her impeccable, beautiful gravity that he couldn't get away from. Why was she so intoxicating to him? Her with her armor, her strength, her wounded soul and beautiful, broken eyes? He had always tried to be the knight in shining armor, but he found her power and her pain so equally beautiful. That she fought on in spite of everything that had happened to her. And he bit against it, balked and scraped his heels with how he fought it, because he had nothing left of his heart to give her. He had been hurt too many times.

And she? She would break it more than the others ever had, with her storms and her beauty and her scared, gentle insides. He couldn't even allow himself to think about it, and why he did it so early was beyond him. Why he could see himself beside her, from the moment he met her, boggled his mind. And he hated himself for his weakness, but he felt his heart in his throat still in that moment, to see her cry for his pain, for his past. Nobody had ever cried for him, and it made him weak, so weak, that he stumbled and let his wings move as if to embrace her. They trembled along each feather, each filament, and he rustled them gently to take the edge off the heat that her own weather changes had incurred, bathed her hide in cooler waves of air, as gentle a zephyr as he could make them.

"Please don't cry for me," he whispered, his voice thick with his pleading, the feeling he did not dare acknowledge. His muzzle moved forth a second time, lips aching to touch the wet trails across her cheeks, if she would let him just one more time partake in the touch of her skin. Kiss and brush away the tears she'd shed for him. "I hate to see you cry," he whispered, the confusion he felt an undercurrent in each word, because he didn't know why her sorrow for him made him feel so helpless, so touched. And her muzzle moved forth, and he dropped his own farther to meet her, to let their velvet skin brush together. He drew his own strength back into his body with her touch, letting a deep shaky breath turn him firmer, more grounded as she breathed courage back into his body. "I wish I could help you more," he confessed into her skin, hoping he wouldn't stumble and scare her away from him forever with his honesty.

@[Cirrus]