Redsand Canyon But hearts believe in tomorrows.

@Donovan Azura (a bit of pp, let me know if anything needs editing, I did try not to make assumptions lol but there was a bit of a jump since their last thread)

They seemed to have come to a mutual, albeit silent, understanding.

Whatever was happening between them, they didn't speak of it. 

Discussing the delicate balance they'd found would have raised a number of concerns; truly, neither of them really seemed ready to settle down just yet. She needed time, to heal. And he had been betrayed in love once before, like the sainte herself. They'd continued the dance, skirting around one another as they toed the waters to gauge the temperature. 

Perhaps the warlord was meant to be the wish she'd longed for, perhaps not. Perhaps they were meant to be nothing more than good friends who just got one another. Either way, she'd survive. 

They'd not had much chance to speak since her sudden arrival - it seemed the storm wasn't the only thing brewing on the horizon, war was coming. She supposed he was busy, being Grandmaster. 

When she found that the water level had lowered and the rain had abated, the sylph drug herself back down the slick, sloping cliffs - limping deeper into the canyons in search of the trail of her thoughts. 

She hoped he was alone. 

Fen had taken to seeking him in the night - on the days when the terrors troubled her even into the light. She simply could not sleep very well alone. 

It was not every night she crept into his bed. She was no fool - she could smell the others on him, the reek of sex perfuming his coat (which stirred curious urges in the girl as she pressed close to him, oddly enough) filling the air as she curled herself against him. She had no desire to change him, in fact, in this they may have been strangely matched. The druids who'd taken her in had been open, accepting. So long as consent and respect abounded, petty jealousy was unnecessary. 

Still, it would be best if she didn't come upon him in the throes of passion. There were important things to tend to. 

"Donav?" The fae called as she came upon a particularly strong scent trail, sangria cutting into her pinkpads as she wound through the russet walls of stone. 

Her ears perked alertly as she inched along, and her wintry gaze squinted against the dying light of sunset as it swept the corridors for Saints in need of help.