Two Eyes Cenote beryllium

When the sobs shook through the sesh, they shook them both. When she threatened to fall, Eset’s arm wound tighter. Her sorrow listed high through the old acacias, invisible tendrils of grief that tore through tangles of leaves and out into the shivering face of the stars. The weight of it rose, climbed, spiraled. But when it fell back, it descended upon them both. She was not alone.

“I do not see a broken woman, Tavina,” Eset cradles into her cheek, “you do not need fixing. You are deeply hurt, in need of care.” She does not release her.

She cannot see it now, but the hebsut believed that she would find a way- because Tavina is the kind of woman who taught her that for every hurt there is a leaf to cure it.