[Hayame had never imagined she could have as much in common with a human than she had already discovered on that day in Springstar... and she did not relish in finding out that there was even more. It is another bond... and another weakness, at the same time. To be known as anything but a warrior to be feared on the battlefield is so terrifying of a prospect for her, and yet she must be known now by a Zenith... so let it be him. Let it be Amos, because-
Because-
Amos memories, or perhaps it is more accurate to say the Meridian energies that shape them, feel so bracing and sure. She has nothing quite like them for herself. Her dam had been an Armless broodmare, and she hadn't possessed the hands to stroke her hair or hold her even if she'd wanted to. Through the similarities they accrue, unlike Amos, Hayame had not escaped her fate years ago and left it behind for a new life. She'd had a brief month in which she had slowly learned that perhaps she could be free, that perhaps there was a way to survive outside of the only system she'd ever known... and then she had been here. The shackles are still heavy in her mind.
But the warmth of Meridian soothes over the cracks in her hearts when it returns to her from Amos. (Could she have those things, like he'd had, if she returned to her world and found a way to survive instead of dying as she had promised? Would she be able to know years of a life away from the breeding stables, amidst her own kind, eventually finding people who would call her ally, companion, or friend?) It covers the doubts and reminds her... her world is out there somewhere. She has to get back to it or she'd never know what she might could have. Even if it ended in the fiery explosion she had promised, at least those orphans might know the life she never had or could, her honor would be cleansed...
Her hands tighten in turn over his, heedless of the potential pain in either of their grips. His soul is in her hand and hers in his, and the sap their blood has become smears sticky and viscous in between. She can feel him so closely, in the bond created by their trade, one that urges her just to stay in his company, with someone who is seeing her, who she is giving unto and receiving in return.
Their gaze meets again, and the cold fury that usually dwells in her one remaining eye has been temporarily quenched. Her expression is vulnerable and raw, her doubts warmed by Meridian just as his reaching was cooled by Zenith, and her lips part... but nothing comes out. She swallows, tries to force them out even though she doesn't rightly know what words they'll even become. Right now...]
Don't let go.
[Not yet. Even if they had nothing left they could trade... She had missed how it felt when he held her hand.]
no subject
Because-
Amos memories, or perhaps it is more accurate to say the Meridian energies that shape them, feel so bracing and sure. She has nothing quite like them for herself. Her dam had been an Armless broodmare, and she hadn't possessed the hands to stroke her hair or hold her even if she'd wanted to. Through the similarities they accrue, unlike Amos, Hayame had not escaped her fate years ago and left it behind for a new life. She'd had a brief month in which she had slowly learned that perhaps she could be free, that perhaps there was a way to survive outside of the only system she'd ever known... and then she had been here. The shackles are still heavy in her mind.
But the warmth of Meridian soothes over the cracks in her hearts when it returns to her from Amos. (Could she have those things, like he'd had, if she returned to her world and found a way to survive instead of dying as she had promised? Would she be able to know years of a life away from the breeding stables, amidst her own kind, eventually finding people who would call her ally, companion, or friend?) It covers the doubts and reminds her... her world is out there somewhere. She has to get back to it or she'd never know what she might could have. Even if it ended in the fiery explosion she had promised, at least those orphans might know the life she never had or could, her honor would be cleansed...
Her hands tighten in turn over his, heedless of the potential pain in either of their grips. His soul is in her hand and hers in his, and the sap their blood has become smears sticky and viscous in between. She can feel him so closely, in the bond created by their trade, one that urges her just to stay in his company, with someone who is seeing her, who she is giving unto and receiving in return.
Their gaze meets again, and the cold fury that usually dwells in her one remaining eye has been temporarily quenched. Her expression is vulnerable and raw, her doubts warmed by Meridian just as his reaching was cooled by Zenith, and her lips part... but nothing comes out. She swallows, tries to force them out even though she doesn't rightly know what words they'll even become. Right now...]
Don't let go.
[Not yet. Even if they had nothing left they could trade... She had missed how it felt when he held her hand.]