Blackwater Islands dread

the shadow of listener and keeper hung over them. or so it felt, as the dreadfather verbally bristled and then bent under her displeasure. the prophet forgot, at times, that under the shimmering voidmagick ingram was still a man; a man who loved her. she was never certain if that love was his weakness or his strength.

he was still a man, but had the listener ever truly been a woman? this was the part where a woman would take him into her arms, all gratitude and promises, love reunited. they would forget the troubles ahead, and when the time came they would face it together. a woman would put him above all else, as he had done for her.

instead, the listener went still at his side, fur twining with his.

these islands have always been filled with ghosts. i do not mind, though my place is at your side. i would not undermine your authority in the eyes of your followers, her voice was hushed. give me a task. one of importance, so that none will question my place. let them see that you are king, even to your wife; even to a prophet. i will remain outside of your hierarchy until i have proven myself. but i will be near, if that is your wish.

because i love you, a woman would have said. but the thought did not occur to her, just as it never occurred to her to proclaim her love for her tail or her ears. these things were part of her.

but her expression softened, by fractions, as she stepped away to look at him — to truly study him for the first time in months.

i was away for too long, she murmured. i had forgotten what it felt like. to be made whole again.