[as they prepare to leave the Veins]

Though the echo of all that had been is slow to dissipate from his churning mind (a sticky, impenetrable web of disbelief, confusion, excitement, fear), the shrug of night grows ever colder, closer around them and the mischievous coastal gale whips relentlessly with sour sea-spray to further chill their bodies; dampened skin trembles violently, even the blunt plane of hidden molars chatters noisily together across a tense, jerking jaw. The adrenaline which had risen to greet the recent meeting swiftly melts now away into the brawny contours of his body, and in its wake, blue blood dallies down the corridor of tightly narrowed arteries; as he breathes, steps or otherwise moves, it is with involuntary slowness, like a lizard in the dawn.

...ironic really, given that the molten innards of this island were spewing slowly down the cliffs around them.

Where the line of cold onyx tile meets the cracked clay and hope of a greener world beyond, Noah pauses to turn, to offer to the sweet dove trailing a smile filled with warmth and encouragement. Aqua-green eyes plunge headlong into those endearing, quirky pools, tumbling involuntarily into that bright, confounding state of wonderment, captivity, beneath the playful glitter of reflecting starlight; his breath chokes, for she is beautiful against the dusk and chill of a southern night, and his heavy pulse pounds to the rhythm of unfathomable fervour. “Breathtaking,” he wants to admit, but the silly thought, the brazenness and inappropriateness, given all the trials they have faced and those obstacles still waiting ahead, force insecurity’s scarlet heat to swell beneath pallid cheeks; instead, he turns back to the cheerless wall of shadows to the north.

The rude wind harries queer trees into whistling chorus behind, yet there is tranquility in the sky; though the driving sea roars angrily and giant waves tear savagely at the walls beneath them, moonlight softens the  atmosphere’s mood. Tension manifests, knots his thoughts painfully, but the image of her returns and he thinks of her fondly, waiting there trustingly for his lead; his heart feels lighter, bolder and the flame of masculinity flares vividly within.

She has become his purpose.

”I’ll find us some place warmer…” rumbling undertone mentions distractedly, perhaps more for his own benefit than Nora’s (she would hardly understand). The sinew beneath his painted tapestry bristles and Noah pushes the length of one wing out into space, and then the opposite, stretching the stiffness of inactivity from their feather-cloaked midst. The journey thus far has been convoluted, as varied as the lands they have passed, and he isn’t sure which direction leads home - but he wears a sound poker-face for the sake of the dove. ”Follow?” The word has become a staple part of their bond, follow has allowed the foundations of trust to harden and their sapling friendship to root soundly upon it.

- - - - -

Slowly and thoughtfully he guides her clear of the silent squall, that who’s wicked spirit would see them batted cruelly from height. Steady wings at last can glide without interruption, and the cool bod between drives a safe distance north of the coastline (following it for the moment); the higher altitude is near freezing, so he finds a happy enough medium partway between heaven and earth. Hours pass before he spots a soft glow on the horizon, an intriguing quirk in the darkness. It calls his interest and lures him down like a moth to the flame; it grows as they near, until a boiling lake of true fire burns furiously before him. Though he dares not investigate too closely, the pit warms the area wonderfully (thankfully), and drives back the snarl of shifting shadow around him.

Noah

I was born a warrior
I was born a warrior