Sunset Valley 'til the day that i die

he leans in and his warmth is a blazing furnace against her cool skin. she does not yield to his gesture, but her eyes follow him. like the way the stars followed a comet’s arc—briefly, brilliantly.
she catches the glint of his promise. a fair offering braced in reverence. for that, she does not strike him.
"brennur þú harðlega, drøugr." she murmurs, almost to herself. recollected memories brought images of a boy half-broken. she searches his eyes for any sign of him, but finds none. he is long dead.
"það er furða að guðirnir hafi ekki þegar breytt þér í ösku." a compliment.
she steps away, severing the electricity between them, "hittu mig undir svörtu hæðunum. þegar stjörnurnar klifra hæst."
not for your men. not for your rank.
but because the blaze in you calls to something long dead in me. and i must to know if she still lives.
she does not wait for a reply. only turns and vanishes into the trees.