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BY THE PRECEPTS OF HER PURITY
Like the clouds around the moon she now remembered why she preferred to not wind her words around the subject. She was remembered to why she was usually so direct. She was not afraid to hurt. She was not afraid to push harsh words onto frail skins. Like the Gods of this land never did something unnecessary, she did not like to waste words that were undesirable, dreaded small talk. Too much time was wasted like that. She was not impatient, no, that was something quite different from this. But she couldn’t really get a grip on him, The Frostheart, and she could only reassure herself that; if she couldn’t, that must mean no one could.
"Perhaps"
Perhaps?
She puffed, rolled her tongue ready for a laugh, but couldn't find enough humor in the tragedy after all and just let out an unidentified murmur. The truth was, he frustrated her. How could he mock knowledge? How could he be vague when there was but one answer, one reply, that he could've given? Maybe she was arrogant to think that. Probably. "You remind me of driftwood in still water." Was it an insult? An attempt to drag something out of him that she didn't know was even there? She wasn't sure.
She looked at him. Something about him made her feel heavy, as if her ivory mane weighted ten times more, pulled on her neck, muscles, chest. As if looking at him, like the coded Helovian winds she couldn’t decipher, made her feel heavy with burdens she did not know of. It felt as if the sea would simply tug and tug, until it would be able to take her away into the ocean. But she didn’t want that. Did he want that? To her, he was an open book with its pages left blank. Just like his cold eyes that lay vast on the horizon, empty. Perhaps. Perhaps she should know better than to try to get anything out of him. Apathetic, restless; still as he was. Whatever he had been in the past, he wasn't that anymore. Why was she curious? Why did she care? He was lost behind the rim of the horizon. King of Nothing. It should make him like her... yet, he was nothing like her at all.
Aren't we the perfect strangers.
You must have been through a lot — She hadn’t per se meant it like he must have had a tough life. Simply because she didn’t care enough about things like 'a road of painful life decisions' and 'emotional whirlwinds' to have sounded compassionate when it came down to that. Not even if they were Mauja’s. Perhaps she had phrased it too dramatic, too gently. Too… tender. But she wasn’t the obscure lover hidden in the caress of the wind. She was more like a blazing hot sun in the midst of a heatwave, a harsh reality, interested only in the realities that had come before she had arrived here — the clashes between herds, the collapses of Orders, rise of villains and heroes alike, chaos, despair, love, survival of culture and religion, Gods — But she was wrapped too sweetly and there was no helping that. The Gods must have made her like that for a reason.
The salty water whisked around her, as if the sea had grown feathers soft enough to caress. But Maren pulled her legs from underneath her tiger striped body and pulled herself up, her long, wet mane following her movement like glassy strings, shimmering in the soft light as they fell underneath the shadow of her neck. Her feathered fingers stretched themselves to try and brush off some of the damp sand. Standing there, unfolded, she wasn’t small anymore, her attempt to become a rock (one of many), one with the sand had remained wasted effort. She had known all along but she had still tried.
Her golden eyes roamed the horizon before finding Mauja’s still, blue gaze. She hesitated, looked away for a moment, then looked back. Her own eyes were glazed in silence, silent like silent longing was. Rummaged her chest. “Do you trust me?” Her lips were dry, salty, she tasted as she moved them to speak. She felt the wind push, possessive of anyone but her. The bristled feathers framing her cheeks no longer brushing, she frowned. “Why won’t you talk to me?”
I know.
I am too arrogant.
Only the sun felt warm on her skin.
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