We could feel it wordlessly shift, slowly, until a morning came where the air blew fresh and fine, with only a hint of a chill. It rolled in all quiet-like on us—but me and Cheek, we were on red alert for that shift, that tick tick tock of springtime counting down on us. It didn’t sneak up on us; we were ready and waiting.

It was…early, way too early, when we decided to jet. Too early for anyone to be walking around casually except for a patrol here or there, and they were easily avoided (and I ain’t sure they were lookin’ for our asses too hard, either). It was quiet and calm with something balmy in the air, sweet, the scent of grass shoots pushing themselves from the dirt. The scent of new, shiny things to come. Of rebirth ‘n shit.

It was the first time in a long while that I strapped Sparkmarrow to me—and at once, I felt a familiar buzz that ran through the harness and the metal of the sheathed blade, reminding me of a thing that I missed without realizing I was missing it. I dunno man; it just didn’t seem right to walk around a stranger’s home, trampling on their kindness, with a sword at my side that was ready and willing for a fight. It would’ve been rude, unseemly. So, for my stay here, I had kept Sparkmarrow buried somewhere safe (and lonely), keeping myself bare and vulnerable, a peace offering.

But nah, I was done with that. It was time to hit the road, jack, and I was feeling a freeing thing from Chico as he fluttered above me, a huge, flapping owl scouting the area before me with powerful eyes. He was certainly glad to be going, and I can’t blame him. We were used to a certain kind of freedom than the Edge couldn't allow us, and it wasn’t her fault, not really, but walls are walls are walls and even though the land inside of it is big as hell, you still know you’ll eventually hit a wall (or a Cliffside, whatever, it still counts). It felt good to break free finally, to shy away from the awkward, precarious nature of our guesthood (What was cool for us to do? What was pushing it?).

What we didn’t anticipate was the heavy feeling from us, in both our hearts (Chico less so than I). He was lamenting (vaguely) over leaving his new friends behind, in the form of that lil’ elephant shortstack he adored, all those girls who just loved loved loved to offer him snuggles. As for me, well—it was a little bit harder for me to swallow. Leaving like this, before the sun even broke, without so much as a goodbye to Tembovu, a thanks again, bro, I sure do appreciate it. To be fair, I’m not sure if I could’ve done it face-to-face anyway. I fucking hate goodbyes, and besides, it ain’t like I wasn’t gonna see him again, right? It’s so weird—not too long before, I hated the Edge. But now they could probably call on my help for some shit. Ain’t life weird like that?

(Time flows, it never stops, and things get caught up in the current—)

There were other things that hit a little closer to home that really hurt me, eating at me, making my swallows go down hard and bitter. But there was no use crying over it (even though I wanted to, oh god, I really, really wanted to—) I had come here looking for Ma; she wasn’t here; Tembovu had given me until Birdsong to stay, get my thoughts straight, get out of the cold. Birdsong was here now; a whole season had passed with just me squatting in a garden, looking over a cliff at the mist beyond and wondering what it meant. Waiting for someone to show up; looking for a way to walk up to them and ask, how’re you doing?

I had no more excuses.

Time to go. 

Well fuck a duck. I can’t even act like I was shocked.

If I were younger I would’ve called it magic. Just think—the very moment I decide to let it all go, to move on, to get off my ass and go forward—that’s when he decides to stand in my way, teasing me with the implication that he might be the destination.

Cheek saw him first, of course—I mean, he was flying right in front of me, wasn’t he? I knew the moment Chico saw that pale speckled pelt cuz he wasn’t mentally prepared to hide it from me, and I’m not sure if he was gonna hide it anyway. It was a mark of how much older he was, how much more mature, that he didn’t immediately go looking for those super cool owls he had always looked up to; nah, what he did was zip down to the ground, zpsnk!, and suddenly he was be-maned and be-fanged and be-winged and all other types of shit, bedazzled to all fuck. A short sentinel but a sentinel nonetheless, standing, watching Lee and catching the stick across his back and a bag hanging at his side, standing and watching and waiting for me to catch up. Like…a sentinel (I said that already, right?)

Protecting me, I realize. From what, I’m not really sure. He was good at hiding that from me.

(Sick of nightmares.)

My breath caught when I saw him in my inner eye, and I hadn’t meant to do it, but there it was, my breath stopping and my heart pounding all that much faster, my insides pouring molten something. Warmth. It was warm. I wasn’t sure if it was the good warm either.

(Joy? Panic? What am I supposed to do—)

There was a part of me—a huge one, a really distinct one with a lot of clout—that wanted to turn-tail and run for it. But that didn’t make sense cuz I was trying to leave the Edge, dammit, and the way out was this way, not behind me. I’m not even sure why I wanted to run so bad—isn’t this what I wanted in the first place? (The very first place, I mean, the place I was hiding with the lie about seeing my Ma—)

And then there was the possibility of—hey why not just go around him? Casually snip that warm red thread between us out of sheer fear of something vague, like his identity (I don’t know a Mow-ya). This notion didn’t have as much pull, purely because I wasn’t sure if I had the balls to do something so shitty. I’m still not sure why I wanted to run.

I came up on him way too fast; I saw his white silhouette but I couldn’t stop myself from going forward. There was no reason to. I had every right to walk this way, dammit, there was no reason for me to stop just because he was there, I had places to go, shit.

But I did stop.

Sure enough, there was that stick up there on his back, the same one he had tried to give to Tembovu (and some crazy jealous part of me wondered: Is he gonna give it to me, next?) (Kinda sexual) (Shut up) There was that bag, too, that Chico had seen on him, a bag I don’t remember him having, all this shit hanging off of giving the idea that he had packed up all his worldly possessions (time to hit the road, jack). And there he was, too, just as big as I remembered, just as blue-eyed and sad--but he was thinner and scruffy and sad sad sad that pulled at him from all four corners, a sad I wasn’t surprised to see, even though it hurt to look at. His daughter had died; he had been a wreck way before that, years before that, and then his daughter had died. The most shocking thing is that he was still standing, looking at me.

I don’t know what my face was like cuz my brain had froze up on me; maybe my eyes were wide, and maybe they were shining with stuff, but I don’t know what kind of stuff, good or bad or whatever. “Hey,” slipped out of me like the wind knocked out my lungs—shocked, because I hadn’t expected him to be here; glad, cuz my heart had been breaking from his absence; pained, cuz it was still breaking anyway, after seeing him like this. Ruined, ruined. (Hmph, like I ever knew him any other way.)

What do I say to him?

Hey, but I already said that.

My name is Ros, because I wanted to meet him, finally.

Why didn’t you tell me you had a family? cuz there was still this green, hurt nasty thing in me that refused to tuck away its ugly head once and for all.

It always boils down to this: my speechlessness in front of him, cuz I only know how to speak the truth and I don’t always know what it is at the moment. All I can do is open my maw and let it spill and figure it out like everyone else. So that’s what I did. I opened my mouth, and out came the tiny, hesitant, glad, pained truth.

“I missed you.”  

Chico remembered the last time he had seen Lee, how he had been so excited to show him to me cuz he had wanted me to be happy finally. What I didn’t realize is that he had also remembered how that plot had backfired on him, immediately and completely, how he had almost fallen to his own death because of the blast of pain I had gotten from Lee, learning how he had been a part of a war that had needlessly torn apart so many lives (not too many). He was standing there now, watching Lee, seeing the drunken stumble and feeling the flutter in my own breast and torn between it all. Cuz he didn’t want me feeling that pain again (No more nightmares). He didn’t want me to break like that again. (No more nightmares, dammit).

But Lee was coming towards me, and Cheek had to move anyway cuz you bet your sweet ass I wasn’t just gonna let Lee shamble his way towards me like that, alone. I was meeting him halfway.

Be safe.

It was automatic and thoughtless; Lee was reaching for me and I was reaching for him, stretching my neck across his wither and getting a face-full of stick and not even caring cuz I couldn’t care cuz here was Leos, finally finally finally, and here was his bulk and his smell and his fur against my own and his voice ringing in my skull (I missed you too—) and he was grabbing me and I was grabbing him just as hard, holding him as close to me as my short ass would allow cuz here he was with a heart still beating—

--and something was breaking out of me, a weak sort of gasping laughter that didn’t make sense at first. Maybe it was just happiness—or relief, a disbelieving sort of relief that catches you off guard, a glimmer that shouldn’t have been there cuz you were so sure the world was so dark. I missed you. “Yeah?” I asked, breathless, but it was muffed against his coat cuz that’s where I wanted to be right now, “Well, here I am.” Here’s where I wanna be.

The worst part about it all was how heartbreaking it actually was: here I was, right about to leave, right about to blow this kickstand cuz I felt too out of place to try and knit myself into it. An outsider, an interloper. I was finally seeing Leos on the cusp of my departure, and it was not a moment too late—but what did these things even matter when I was trying to jet out of here anyway in the next few moments? I was seeing him just in time to say goodbye. How thoughtful.

It was a weird contrast; on one shoulder hung Sparkmarrow, bright and heavy and cold, glittering in the dying moonlight even though the magic itself wasn’t running through the blade; something deadly but still with purpose, an anchor to the whole universe around us, cuz it was born of Papa and bathed in the blood of evil things and I was going to have to fight all of them, huh. But on my other shoulder—on my other shoulder was something (someone) so much warmer and heavier, something fragile that was so much different than the seemingly indestructible strength of Pa’s sword, someone I wanted with a surprising selfishness I didn’t know I even had—and here we were alone, just us, just me and him and fuck the rest of the universe for a second, just fuck off right now, I don’t give a shit, cuz we were here and we were huggin’ and I had missed him and he had missed me.

And he still didn't know my name.

My muscles relaxed underneath him and I got comfortable in his embrace; I breathed out once, slowly, and the knots in my stomach unraveled and there was a warm feeling in my stomach that offered itself hesitantly, and I understood that it was peace. A small, precarious peace—but it was there for a moment, if only for a moment. “How they treating you here?” I asked it softly, my voice delicate as it twisted amongst the sharp, brittle spikes of him, he who was made of ice, who was covered in it from his menacing horn to his blue blue blue eyes to his frosted hooves—he who could snap and crumble just as easily. Lee. (Or Mow-ya).

”Well….well enough.”

Well enough, hm? I got that feeling myself, actually, how Tembovu had welcomed me in the Edge, letting me laze about and lay around and freeload until the season turned (and I swear it was turning, I swear it was, it was the right time for it, wasn’t it, the right time, it was time to go—) And all that kindness still wasn't enough to keep me here.

My breath was coming out in little flutters, weak things, because I was using the bulk of my body to prepare for the Thing. The Goodbye. The thing I was too chickenshit to give to Tembovu but somehow I was racking up the courage to give it to Lee right here. Was it because he was here and I couldn’t just book it out of there? Was it because he was Lee?

I mean, it ain’t like I was trying to find a reason to say goodbye at all. There was just that nagging part of my mind (that snoring, farting, smelly asshole part of my mind) (Ye it me) that was telling me there was nothing else I could do, no other choices I could make. Except yeah actually I had all the choice in the world (people loved to tell me that) but there was one that I was sticking to goddammit and that was the choice to leave, to keep moving forward and onward even though they were only taking care of him well enough.

So I sucked in my breath for a deeper sigh, because all my mental and physical was prepped and all I needed were the words. “So,” I started, and I was gonna blow everything: my name, his name, what I was thinking, where I was going, and whether or not oh shit  oh shit the bastard was falling—

Like his weight was just crashing down and his neck was all over me and my shoulders were gripped and Sparkmarrow’s point dug into my shoulder (that’s a metaphor too and I still don’t understand them shits—

—and there was a soft growl behind me but I didn’t hear it cuz I was muttering “Shitshitshitshitshit” in a persistent hiss, all of Lee’s body and weight (and warmth) pressing down on me, pulling us both to the ground.

I didn’t make it down there with him, though. It would’ve happened if I was younger, maybe, but my legs were stockier and my breast was heavier and he was still falling but my neck was groaning and popping trying to keep him on his feet and I failed that shit but I stopped the crash, anyway. He was just lowered, softly, carefully onto the frosted grass that forgot it was supposed to be spring already.

And Chico switched forms on me while I wasn’t looking, flapping up to a tree bough on the large, heavy wings of an owl, while I looked down on Lee there on the ground with a sore neck and wide, concerned eyes. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

We’ve been here before and it was weird, because it was even the same season almost. Down to the blistering cold and the still-black sky, the still-twinkling stars, it was the same details, the same setting—the same set up, almost, Leos hitting the ground, me on my feet and poised to do something about it. Except now we weren’t talking about a war he had fought in on the wrong side. (But maybe we were, I dunno, I’m just as lost here—)

It looked like he was—fluttering. Not on the outside, no, outside he was just as solid as he ever was, as large and buff and white, so blindingly white like ljós a light someone refuses to turn off, so that it burns, burns, burns itself into the ground. I was talking about his eyes and the way they looked at me so steadily, even though the words were pouring out of his mouth in a rush, in a terrified rush, like his whole insides were shaking and shaking and shaking and shaking and shaking and—

I took a breath. I counted in my head all the way to ten so I knew I was taking enough of it in. I was back to this point, like time and fate itself had given me a chance to change my actions, to do it over again because before I had grabbed his mane and that was the absolute wrong thing to do. I couldn’t help it at the time—I was mad, I was rough, I’m always rough. I was rough right now, having to count to ten to make sure my actions were just right, that I was sure enough, gentle enough, careful enough to do what I needed to do, offer what I could.

I didn’t know if it was what he needed, though. And I never knew that, and I’m not sure if I’ll ever know. I know what he is, or I guess what he isn’t, and that was “fine” (—I've never been fine—). And I remember when the roles were reversed, when I was on the ground and the frost was actually broken shards of crystal and he was standing where I was now and I was very very super not fine and I remembered what he did for me then, at least. And he was old enough, sure enough, calm enough and careful to do the thing I was gonna try doing now. It had worked for me and that’s all I know. I’m not sure if I’m wrong for that, if I’m selfish for thinking that way.

I’m not fine, he was saying to me, with eyes and teeth and heart.

“I know,” I said back to him—really, really small coming out of my mouth, because it’s not a thing you can afford to fumble.

I’m short and I’m smaller than him but I knelt down next to him anyway, like he had done with me. He had been this…solid thing, a shield from something crashing down on me or a bonding agent to keep me from blasting apart again, from losing myself in a black hole beneath me that was gonna end up threatening me daily and nightly. So that’s what I was trying to do; I laid down next to him , shoulder to shoulder, neck to neck, and I gripped him with my head and held him down, close to something warm, keeping him tethered to himself at least, even if I didn’t have the heart to keep him tied to the earth. I’m not sure if I could be that cruel.

And I thought back to Tembovu and the conversation we had, about what I was to Lee, about…about all those others, the sea of them, everyone who had a claim on Lee’s heart and how I hated it and how terrified I was of drowning, suffocating under those waves that surrounded him. Here I was, the only warm soul for miles trying to comfort my friend—and it wasn’t pride I was feeling in my actions. It wasn’t the smugness I had been feeling not too long ago, the relief that, now, it was just us for a second. It wasn’t arrogance that was driving me to this—it wasn’t anything driving me to the ground, nothing at all, because to walk away would be a thing against every single piece of me and that was a power I didn’t have. Not yet. Not now.

He spoke to me; I let him speak. I knew what it felt like to have words, ideas, buried so deeply inside it felt like agony to finally dig them up and find a way to spew them from your mouth. The way he was speaking, the narrative he was stitching together in my head (the math he was trying to make me do—just how old was this guy?) felt like cold, cold chips of ice spitting from his lips, cold and frozen like the rest of him—like he wanted to be, I guess, because a cold thing is a numb thing, and it sounded like there were lots of painful wounds on the inside that hadn’t quite healed over, that needed that little numbing agent to make it easier to open your eyes the next morning.

I had a taste of that, myself. And I call it a taste because it wasn’t a thing that I had been grappling with as long as Lee certainly had. My tragedies, in hindsight, were few compared to whatever he had stacked up against him—and I was beginning to accept them, and let my demons sleep with me instead of spending sleepless nights trying to fend them off. I had stopped fighting a while ago. But I wasn’t sure, in that moment, if that means I had been defeated.

I laid there and listened to him (He began to die three years later. A year after that, he was all but destroyed—and yet he remains, like a skin I can't slough off—) and I kept breathing cuz I wanted my heart to keep pumping, to keep myself warm, to keep him warm because even though cold can keep you from drowning in your own terror, it was still gonna make you sick. I breathed in his scent evenly and took in the cadence of his voice and I wondered to myself—

Without him, I do not know how to be.

—I wondered, what could I say to him? Should I even say anything, at all? Who was I to offer advice, especially as I laid there in his shadow? Was I still some kid fumbling blindly, trying to find my own way in the world—or had I grown into something beyond that, and was it okay for me to feel that way? Would I be arrogant to think I had grown at all? In the eyes of my Pa, wasn’t I still just an infant?

(But I’ll always be an infant anyway, that wasn’t even an argument there, I was trapped in the perpetual state of babyhood—)

The stars were beginning to melt a little bit, just a little, as the sky seemed to think about shifting into daytime. We both laid there and our breathing made a steam around us and I let it float around and above as I realized there was a question forming in the back of my throat. I hesitated—was it wisdom? Was it impudence? If I stuttered would I ruin the moment? I opened my mouth and I let it out as small as I could: “Do you want to be without him?”