Ever since he'd met her all she'd done was give. True, she'd asked for a few things, small trinkets that she needed to help build something greater. It was never something she wanted for herself, every item she bartered for was intended to go to someone else once she was finished working it with her own worn hands. Fabrics for better clothes to fit anatomy that was new or unfamiliar, yarns for warmth, seashells to assuage a child's illness and bring them cheer. Seeds and herbs for friends who wanted, everything else she insisted she could get by without.
His hair was heavy with baubles now, beads woven into strands of waxen cord and skillfully tied so that they glinted in the light. Feathers and beads that were somewhere between whimsy and what must have been vestigial reminders of ancestral hunters. Seashell necklaces and bracelets painted and woven, glittering with tumbled sea glass and feathery tufts. Scarves, sweaters, gloves and blankets enough to last him a dozen of the harshest winters because he'd kept forgetting to wear them and she gave him more to keep him warm and safe. Even as her own things seemed to be falling apart around her. Like she hardly even noticed how worn and threadbare she was anymore, as if it was simply a state of being so constant she'd simply continued on because she'd stopped seeing the decay.
The shadows in her had gotten darker during the winter. The frost had touched her even though she'd hidden from the cold, chasing the warm colors from her skin and hair until they barely showed anymore. He hadn't even realized how poor her health had become until they were hiding in the wagon from a sudden flurry, and she'd warmed up enough to push back her hood. Nothing but white had framed her head and shoulders. The brown showed only at the crown of her head and a little further in the back, but the pale cream was more prevalent than ever. Washed out. But still all she talked of was her worries for the others and for the little one, no mention of the pain that wracked her bones or the terror that lurked in her dreams. She'd only mentioned her fears of what hid within her once, and had never mentioned it since.
What gift could be given to someone who never asked for anything, who had forgotten what it felt like to want for more than food and warmth and a good night's sleep. For someone whose deepest desires laid in the health and happiness of those around her, and for their safety, because she'd forgotten what happiness felt like for herself. The charm they'd made for the little one never strayed far from her, clutched to her or tucked safely in her bag, and he sensed that she would have difficulty parting with it though she hardly would understand why herself.
It kept the nightmares at bay.
He could see the way they lingered in the back of her eyes when she was awake. Draining her and leaving her angry and anxious, quick to snap and bite like a caged beast. When she slept she held it close, and the darkness locked inside her seethed and writhed as if champing and hissing at its inability to escape. What a persistent kind of pestilence. She was right, it was not something that should be allowed to live in the Little One's domain.
Banishing it back to its own land was difficult at best, leaving him shaken by its strength and how deep its roots had grown in her. Yet he had succeeded, and seeing the lingering tension leave her as she slumped in the nest of pillows and blankets was worth his own exhaustion. The deep shadows around her eyes were gone now, the bruising along her veins nowhere in sight. The nightmares were still there, but now they were simply that, bad dreams and memories that would fade with time instead of feed off of her in the deepest hours of the night.
Touching his fingers to her hair, he listened to her soft grumble in her sleep as he pet her, studying the way the brown shifted subtly to the off-white cream. A ghost of a frown marred his features, and he buried his hands in the thick fur and combed them through from her scalp to the furthest split end. Sitting back with a sigh of bone-weary tiredness, he pulled a blanket up to his shoulders as he watched her sleep, her hair falling around her face in thick brown waves that curled at the tips, her lush cream undercoat framing her unmarked face.
Nearly unmarked, rather. Some of the scars had been stubborn, but seeing her as she should be was worth the extra hard work, and for a moment he thought he'd heard the Little One agree.
no subject
His hair was heavy with baubles now, beads woven into strands of waxen cord and skillfully tied so that they glinted in the light. Feathers and beads that were somewhere between whimsy and what must have been vestigial reminders of ancestral hunters. Seashell necklaces and bracelets painted and woven, glittering with tumbled sea glass and feathery tufts. Scarves, sweaters, gloves and blankets enough to last him a dozen of the harshest winters because he'd kept forgetting to wear them and she gave him more to keep him warm and safe. Even as her own things seemed to be falling apart around her. Like she hardly even noticed how worn and threadbare she was anymore, as if it was simply a state of being so constant she'd simply continued on because she'd stopped seeing the decay.
The shadows in her had gotten darker during the winter. The frost had touched her even though she'd hidden from the cold, chasing the warm colors from her skin and hair until they barely showed anymore. He hadn't even realized how poor her health had become until they were hiding in the wagon from a sudden flurry, and she'd warmed up enough to push back her hood. Nothing but white had framed her head and shoulders. The brown showed only at the crown of her head and a little further in the back, but the pale cream was more prevalent than ever. Washed out. But still all she talked of was her worries for the others and for the little one, no mention of the pain that wracked her bones or the terror that lurked in her dreams. She'd only mentioned her fears of what hid within her once, and had never mentioned it since.
What gift could be given to someone who never asked for anything, who had forgotten what it felt like to want for more than food and warmth and a good night's sleep. For someone whose deepest desires laid in the health and happiness of those around her, and for their safety, because she'd forgotten what happiness felt like for herself. The charm they'd made for the little one never strayed far from her, clutched to her or tucked safely in her bag, and he sensed that she would have difficulty parting with it though she hardly would understand why herself.
It kept the nightmares at bay.
He could see the way they lingered in the back of her eyes when she was awake. Draining her and leaving her angry and anxious, quick to snap and bite like a caged beast. When she slept she held it close, and the darkness locked inside her seethed and writhed as if champing and hissing at its inability to escape. What a persistent kind of pestilence. She was right, it was not something that should be allowed to live in the Little One's domain.
Banishing it back to its own land was difficult at best, leaving him shaken by its strength and how deep its roots had grown in her. Yet he had succeeded, and seeing the lingering tension leave her as she slumped in the nest of pillows and blankets was worth his own exhaustion. The deep shadows around her eyes were gone now, the bruising along her veins nowhere in sight. The nightmares were still there, but now they were simply that, bad dreams and memories that would fade with time instead of feed off of her in the deepest hours of the night.
Touching his fingers to her hair, he listened to her soft grumble in her sleep as he pet her, studying the way the brown shifted subtly to the off-white cream. A ghost of a frown marred his features, and he buried his hands in the thick fur and combed them through from her scalp to the furthest split end. Sitting back with a sigh of bone-weary tiredness, he pulled a blanket up to his shoulders as he watched her sleep, her hair falling around her face in thick brown waves that curled at the tips, her lush cream undercoat framing her unmarked face.
Nearly unmarked, rather. Some of the scars had been stubborn, but seeing her as she should be was worth the extra hard work, and for a moment he thought he'd heard the Little One agree.