He had felt the ground tremble. Her presence was a seismic tremor that set his bones chattering. He waits for her in the shadow and black, the cool of night laying languidly across his spine.
The Crow makes no move towards her, as she pours like lava over exposed rock. Even tired, even thin with fatigue she is a dangerous creature to behold. His heart knows it and rakes its corvine claws down his breastbone.
“When not even the sun can keep you, what will, Rose?” His eyes trail over her, water over lava and the shadows hiss the sound of steam between them.
In silence he turns to move beside her, feeling the ripple of her impending storm. She is the storm painted ominous red with the setting sun. He is not sure of which she is anymore: returning by night, leaving by day.
Rhoswen is the wind he will never tame and he can only spread his crow wings and endure her. “Your king is dead.” He breathes to her, ‘but you already knew that, didn’t you.” There is no question there, he knew she would return- but not at night… for she is the girl who dances beneath Solis’ sun.
There is silence, as thick as the black between them as they return to stormy cloud and silver sea. “I have missed you.” He longs for those words to be a weapon, a knife upon her skin, but the only one they hurt is him. He sighs from the pain and the soft confession of his words. They are his wound.
@Rhoswen - quality not quantity! <3
![[Image: x341oLX.png]](https://i.imgur.com/x341oLX.png)
You're one microscopic cog
in his catastrophic plan
in his catastrophic plan
