Phoenix Maplewood orion

the cold brought with it a dull ache.

he had left behind the valley in favor of cover. it might have been a beautiful place in the summer or spring, full of life and growth.

as of now, it was a dark reprieve from the endless shades of grey out in the open.

yet something else churned within this too. it carried away the feelings of cover, shelter, a break. instead he stilled himself when the wind was not in his favor. knowing that he had been given away in a manner that did not befit his preferences. fur ruffled by cold winds and some raised to give him a more bristled appearance.

when the world fell silent again, he knew he did not stand alone.

familiarity on the wind; a scent she'd thought to leave far behind with the ruins of her people and the remnants of their shattered legacy. but he was here. perhaps he'd followed her.

haven't yet learned to write your own destiny, hm? she called out, standing at a distance. she tried not to look too closely, to see the features that she knew would make her lungs tighten and her throat ache. running again from the inevitable — but nausicaä was nothing if not willful.

teeth and claw felt kinder against his skin than this.

did she wish him gone? did she think maybe he had crumbled beneath it all? he could recall the grief from his mother. to be betrayed by her own flesh and blood.

he did everything to secure even a glimmer of a future.

was that not writing destiny?

i did. otherwise we would not have crossed. his head lifted and there is a hopefulness in his gaze that no other part of his features can hold. or maybe you wrote it this way — and i am only playing my part.

as always, as i will forever.

words were lost to her then. what could she say? what do you say to the love of your life after you've spit in the face of both love and life? she'd run from it, all of it, but him most of all.

even so, she sometimes saw apocrypha in her dreams. her people; all that she'd loved. but him most of all.

i write nothing, nausicaä scorned him even as she closed the distance. haven't you learned that? i left. i left you.

hot tears stung her eyes.

i deserve nothing. you most of all.

oh, bleeding heart.

he'd feed it to her like a pomegranate if it kept her full. he'd give her his own hide if it kept her warm. he could be the first of man, he could give up a rib if it meant her forever. although look how that had ended.

all he would do for her — all he thought she did for him. so why did it continue this way? what continued to force them apart?

and in that, do you mean to suggest that i do not deserve you? do you mean to say that all i have done has been only for your absence?

a step closer.

near enough to grab her, but he refrained.

she'd thought once that she would shed her life like a snake slithering free of its own skin. but she was no snake — she was the churning sea, and he her mourning moon, ever in orbit. pontus in his perpetual grief.

and thalassa rose to meet him, whether her conduit willed it or not. her touch, hesitant at first, quickly turned grasping; jealously searching for any hint of another scent in his furs. but there were none.

nausicaä wept openly as she curved around ouranos, surrounding him, leaving no part of him untouched. i was never really yours, she confessed into his dark ruff, finally stopping when her flank was pressed to his. but you've always been mine.

i'm sorry.

for leaving? for letting herself be found?

maybe she would never know.

not angry, never angry.

only mourning how much he continued to spill at her feet and to be met with the continued disgrace. but who was disgraced? him or her? they could never be free of one another, though. other halves by things beyond their own doing.

it was pontus who reached for her now and hoped to know the heart he always had.

i forgive you.

this was nothing new. this was not a change in pace.

only this time the fallout had been much more damning than any time before. he thinks of places that will not rise again, of faces not for this world anymore.

i forgive you. he echoed himself now. if wilderness grows over your heart, i will wait. i will remember you.

wilderness over her heart. a tangle of thorned vines and swooning blue flowers to shroud the salt in her veins. maybe he hadn't found her at all. maybe she was still lost.

we weren't meant to be apart, nausicaä said softly, unable to bring herself to answer him directly. i will remember you. how could he know her at all when she did not know herself?

that thought, more than any other, frightened her. that he knew even when she did not.

she drew in a breath.

remember, then. let me forget a little while longer.

something like a command; something like a promise. it was more than she'd wanted to give... but ouranos had always had a way of taking more than she'd ever meant to offer.

come back to me,

she will. each and every time. he remains steadfast in this thinking. that somehow a canyon might forever lay between them in hearts but that it was soul tethering that kept them bound.

still he had paid more than his pound of flesh in proof of these things.

he had brought down his own mother to wear the sins of this woman and still —

still he forgave her. he yearned for her. he drove himself to a madness but remember that he must be a vessel for her to remember herself, to remember where they had first come from.

forget yourself, his own command now and he reached for her. seeking to let teeth and limb keep her near so he might whisper — and know you will always be found here, again and again.

he would have wept if he thought himself ever capable of it again.