Reverie wasted no time in finding a place to settle Blossom for the night, working for several hours to make a comfortable space for her daughter to sleep. Exhausted as she was by the effort, she found herself unable to settle. Even as the sun fell away and left their strange little stretch of beach in shadow, Reverie was restless.
Eventually she wandered out to the water's edge, keeping one ear turned toward where Blossom slept. She drifted along the shore in idle thought, and her thoughts turned to
@Boone. She hardly knew him but somehow she trusted him. He'd walked into the shattered pieces of her life and fit himself neatly between, as if he'd always belonged there, just as Bjarna once had. That day seemed so far away now, like another life entirely.
A life like a memory already lived.
Maybe it would always be this way.
The hours passed and very little did Boone stray from Reverie's side as birdsong turned to that of crickets and frogs and the air gnashed with razor teeth. The beach, decidedly, was not the worst place in the world to be.
He'd kept watch over little Blossom when the golden girl disappeared from view, even helped with making her own little shack with twigs and cattail fluff for warmth. But the girl didn't know him, and he wasn't her father — nor would he try to be.
And now as she slept and the mountaineer made an attempt to, Reverie's absence was felt. He wasn't about to be stuck with some other dude's kid if she were to up and run; but even that aside, he wanted company. It'd been too damn long since he talked to someone he didn't have to merely tolerate.
And so he sought her out after assuring little Blossom was sound, trudging through the sand and kicking it up as he walked. He'd found her along the coast, up against the cakey shoreline. Watchin' the waves?
he chuffs, voice smokey and laced with the scratch of restlessness. His tongue pokes from between his lips in order to wet them as his eyes traverse the curve of her spine; but some kind of guilt for doing so catches him in his tracks.
What the hell was he doing?
As if summoned by her thoughts, Boone found her. She smiled to herself each time she heard him kicking the sand, glancing over her shoulder only when he'd drawn near enough to speak. His gaze was wandering, and she felt it; heat creeping down her spine, curving around her waist, spreading into a lazy curl of warmth. A little shiver trailed through her, and Reverie looked away.
It's beautiful, isn't it? The ocean,
Reverie was unfocused, abruptly a captive audience to her own imagination. She felt her heart in her throat. Against all reason she imagined his arms around her waist, his mouth at her neck, and Reverie quickly forgot what she had said or that she had spoken at all.
It is.
Boone comes up beside her and eases lazily into a sit with an exhale. The salt in the air was suffocating and clarifying at the same time; foam rolling up close to the tips of his toes and drawing back again. He watches it for a good while in the pale blue of the moon, for he suddenly found himself unable to look to Reverie.
What was he doing here, with her? He could just go. He didn't know her and she didn't know him; there were no obligations, none at all, and yet—
A lump catches in his throat and finally his eyes creep from the slim of her wrist and up her shoulder, to the feathering at her neck.
Was he that desperate?
Was he being desperate, or was he actually drawn to her?
Did it matter?
How's l'il Blossom like the ocean?
Somewhere far out in the water, a glint of silver caught her eye. It twisted at the water's surface, just for a moment before it blinked into darkness and there was nothing there at all. She closed her eyes, aware of Boone settling beside her, and tried to hold on to the image of it a few seconds longer.
She still felt his eyes on her. Reverie was quiet a moment, and before she could stop herself, she leaned in and settled her head gently against his shoulder. It felt right; it felt good, and she didn't want to question it. So she didn't. It's all she's ever known,
Reverie sighed, voice scarcely above a whisper. She was young when we left the Valley. Too young to remember.
Too young to know heartbreak, and maybe that was a blessing.
The weight of her head against his shoulder startles him into something of a nervous shock and the lump in his throat grows ever larger. She was touching him; touching him, and he swore he could have fainted right then and there.
Intoxicating, it was, to have eyes upon him. Her eyes.
Blossom knows nothing but salt and sea. His breath hitches as he shuffles to accomodate her; fumbling, nervous, and he was sure it radiated off of him. He wasn't used to this. Not in the slightest.
Why'd you leave the valley?
he prods, following her whisper with a rumble of his own. Sea callin' your name, or am I about to find out you was doin' somethin' out there you shouldn't've?
She smiled a little at that, letting herself relax against him. I'm always doing something I shouldn't,
Reverie murmured playfully. Her voice turned somber with her next words. We had to leave. A witch was threatening us, and...
and I ruined our life at Swiftcurrent Creek.
Her throat tightened, and she couldn't finish. It's over now,
She said finally, but she was thinking of Lestan now, thinking of how she'd taken him from his home, how she'd driven him to misery and left him with nothing. Tears filled her eyes, and she pressed closer to Boone, dissolving into her grief and into the sudden shattering realization that it had to be done, truly finished. Because she loved him; because she wanted him to smile again, and laugh, and rest easily.
And that meant being without her.
A witch?
That's about the weirdest thing I've ever heard,
a whistling sound comes from between his teeth. sounds like you had a nutjob on your hands who got into some no-no plants.
ah, he'd seen that before.
But then he notices her tears, feels them spill into the fur of his shoulder, and he sputters out a small breath. Hey, hey, you're alright,
he snakes one arm out from beneath her to wrap around the small of her back. ain't no witches out here. Promise.
and he wanted to apologize, although he wasn't entirely sure what for.
Where the hell had this poor girl been before she ended up here?
Reverie scarcely heard him. He embraced her and all the rest fell away. Thoughtlessly she turned to wrap her own arms around him, to bury her face in his fur in a vain attempt at stifling her tears.
She wanted him to hold her; she wanted him to kiss her, and tell her again that it would be alright, and that he would stay. And she knew that he would not, because reality was never quite so pretty. He was not truly hers. But for a moment she could pretend that he was, and that he would stay, and in doing so he would somehow fill that nameless void Reverie felt herself crumbling further into with each day. It was a pretty thought, at least.
What was he to do when a girl he hardly knew was sobbing into his chest?
It's okay,
and that's all he could manage in a hushed, raspy whisper as his breath caught helplessly and his eyes sunk. Something had happened, something horrible, something he didn't understand and wouldn't ask about.
His arms slink around her neck in a full embrace, paws rested upon her spine, and it truthfully lacked the intimacy part of him still so desperately sought. This was not the time; he would not be that guy.
You're safe,
and it was sincere; whatever she mulled over now was gone, over with, and he wondered if anyone had ever told her such a thing. you're safe.
The world faded away into warmth, into the grounding feeling of arms around her and gentle assurances that she was safe. For a moment she could only think that it wasn't real — couldn't be real, she knew this, she'd learned this lesson so many times over; that when the world turned dark and quiet, and the hopeless thoughts crept out from their hidden places, "you're safe" was nothing more than a wish. Nothing but a mantra imagined in someone else's voice, because she couldn't trust promises from herself anymore.
She wanted to trust this.
Her breaths steadied; her pulse fell into a calmer rhythm. Reverie pressed her cheek to his chest, soothed by the sound of his heart. I -
Her voice faltered, but it was stronger when she found it again, confessing, I feel safe with you.
This time she didn't try to explain, or second-guess the sanity of it all. It was crazy, and ill-advised, and a betrayal of the first person she'd ever loved more than the taste of her own freedom. But was it really a betrayal if he was better without her?
Love was not always enough, she had learned, and told herself now that it was not wrong to think that they each deserved more than their love had ever given them. She didn't know if Boone could give her that, either, or even if she wanted to try. But she wanted the freedom to decide; the opportunity to try again, if she could let herself.
She felt safe with him. It should've been a compliment, should've given him a feeling of sizzling golden warmth, but instead, it brought him despair.
Who had hurt her so badly to where a damn near stranger was now her source of comfort?
And so he didn't say anything, didn't do anything; not a muscle moved or a breath expelled, little flowery figure still wrapped tight in burly arms, and he felt his lip start to tremble. She could trust him, she could; but the acidic feeling of unspoken guilt now crept into his veins.
He was a man. He was a man, a giant, threatening one; one who knew not his own strength and yet also a weak man, a troubled man. The men before him had not been kind — most weren't, and he knew this, and it riddled him with something bitter and bright red and sickly.
But he was not them.
We should try to sleep, Reverie.
She could have stayed like that forever, wrapped in warmth and blind, desperate trust; she could have closed her eyes and let the rest of the world drift away, and in this moment she thought that she wouldn't miss it at all. The world beyond was far too cold, no place for a creature forged from the sun.
But Blossom was waiting for her. Reverie hesitated when he spoke, just for a moment — and when she finally surrendered his embrace, she reached up to press a light kiss to his cheek. A simple gesture of affection, yet her heart raced; her cheeks flushed. She wanted him still — but not yet, not yet.
For now, they would go back to Blossom, and Reverie would try and fail to sleep; she would spend the night thinking about that kiss, about him, about where they had each come from and where they were going.
<3 beautiful thread as always
She kisses him and he lets her, and he almost can't believe that he had. It'd been so calm, so tender, so sincere, and yet as soon as he felt the warmth of a gentle mouth against his hardened cheek the lump in his throat grew and his lifeblood surged with something unbecoming. His chest ached with longing of body and brain and heart, a desire that had been shelved so deeply within his mind for many moons.
And he felt shame.
She doesn't fight his call for rest, and for that he finds himself thankful. Get some sleep.
And he would not go far, but he would lay separate from mother and daughter as a figure designated other — he was no father, nor husband. And he would not sleep until the first rays of light found his guarded back, and they would not move forward until the seabirds crowded them and the ocean roared with a wordless frostiness.