Ash, The Violent Type | The Lands Remaining: Part 12

The old fire.

Narrate a flashback to the moment you realized that you had fallen in love with the person you saved.

What small, quiet gesture revealed what your discipline had tried to hide? Fenwyn and Rhea sit wordlessly in the glade.

They are both exhausted.

They are both Spattered with blood, mud and grime.

This life, if you can call it that, is hard.

Running is hard.

Being hunted is hard.

They sit and eat a meagre portion of grilled rabbit.

Silently.

They both look gaunt.

And Rhea looks at Fenwyn and she knows that he looks about as bad as she's ever seen him.

He doesn't show much.

He doesn't give much.

And she catches his eye and she signs, uh, you okay? And he cracks a smile, is forced, and just says,

I'm just tired.

And he closes his eyes and leans back against the tree that he's sitting at, tries to catch something resembling sleep.

And he can hear a vague twinkle.

He knows that in this part of the world, superstitious folk would hang mirrors and wind chimes from the branches.

And you can hear those dancing on what he also knows is a desert wind.

They've been going a long time, but he doesn't feel any closer to home.

He opens his eyes and Rhea is stood over him.

The moon is forcing its way through the cloud, lighting her face down one side in blue, the other in red.

She smiles softly, says,

shall we dance?