He would search day and night but of course, in the end it was she who found him.
He's heard her name in the streets, pinched it from the thoughts of strangers, but when everyone says Isra it sounds different from the sound his heart makes. It does not really click that his Isra and the sovereign Isra are the same until he sees how the night air bends around her like something beloved, until he says her name out loud and on his lips it sounds the same as how the others said it-- "You're queen Isra."
In the moments of calm between wild thoughts, he remembers how the snow melted on their skin, forming rivers in the warm canyons where flesh pressed to flesh. Meanwhile his magic rages inside of him, wanting to swim with her mind once again, to do what the light does with her skin.
She looks a little more solid in the firelight, a little less like a dream. Eik reaches out and rests a telekinetic finger on the flower behind her ear (beautiful), then lightly traces the curve of her cheek (also beautiful). He withdraws the ghost touch and takes an uncertain step forward. It was different before, with only the bison as witnesses. Now she is a queen and he is a diplomat and the market is staring (they must see his heart seizing in his chest, they must be laughing to themselves) or maybe not paying any attention at all-- anxiety and paranoia blur the details sometimes.
"open your eyes."
He is painstakingly careful with his words. Instead of "come swimming with me," he says "You have a beautiful home," and although he means it the words are just a placeholder to keep himself from blurting out all the other things he wants to say. His dark eyes hardly blink as they try to drink her in, afraid she may vanish the moment he's not looking.
(how long could he stay here, balanced between pleasure and fear, where the sky is colored by her soul and all the world bends towards her?)
With extreme restraint he takes a single step forward, nose extended in greeting. He is close enough to smell her skin now, beneath the sage smoke and the market smells. His entire body sings with how near and far she is.
"Do you have time to walk with me?"
His voice is coarse with things unspoken. He feels terribly inadequate, dressed as he is in dirt and scars, but he can't stop imagining what it would be like to be the smoke in her hair.
E I K
of white flames and memories
@Isra
Time makes fools of us all
