[P] steep hills of vicodin tears,

[Raum]

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

 

And Rhoswen ascends in fire and light. Upon her skin she bears the weight of his confession as though it is the sun and she the wild red of its eternal heat. Oh, should he regret the word that slipped from his lips. It was a confession made from silk and it fell just as light, just as soft. It was so easy to speak such a word, yet his soul is fraying and it burns beneath Rhoswen’s swallowing sun.
 
He might have stood for a thousand years – turn to stone at the foot of those steps. But Raum is a Crow, he was not made to be still, to stare wantonly after a girl who both pulls him to pieces and binds him together. In silence the Denoctian turns  away. Her words chase him and a silver ear, fine and sharp as a blade twists to catch them. Oh yes, pain was the price they paid for love and this love of theirs was agony, terrible, terrible agony.
 
Solterra’s sun is a lance along his spine. It is close and how his skin itches with sand and dust. His soul begs for shadows, the silver of his skin for the deep, dark of night. Yet he is here, a spy, and he would not leave his post. Not now, not ever.
 
Raum turns as Rhoswen disappears and sets off for the canyon, where his brother waited.

---

--: heh, concluding this....