Hideaway Strath There's just Devils and Dust

flushed, hot, burned.

she was not sure what she wished for. more words of kindness, of some sort of assurance that the saints were not as barbaric as she saw upon her return or for distance from all the warriors of the wild.

she imagined tavina. the safeness in the empty space of her chest.

i can only hope so, she whispered meekly. do you think warriors are made happy by songs?