" all that comes to mind is the way you move against me while you sleep & there are no words for that.”
Someday she will tell the story of this moment. She will open up her mouth wide enough that ink and legends might pour out from her like light pouring from the sun. Words will gather in the cracks of her teeth like blade of grass. And then she will remember that there was this word power between them, powers to stop time, power to lover, power to waste just a little time before they wear their violence in their eyes.
Isra could change the tree over their heads into a statue of them. She could turn it to iron and weapon, but instead she's content to lean her shoulder against it and listen to the wind sing though the stained-glass. For now she's content with the way he looks back at her with a universe in his eyes.
Maybe she should stop to think about this new thing in her that wants instead of wishes. She should worry about this monster that wants to change the world like clay. But she doesn't. It's foolish and it might be beginning of the end of her but she cant' bring herself to do anything but love the fresh fires smoking in her bones. There is one for love and one for justice and one for fury (but that one is a cold star-fire).
“Yes.” She says while brushing her lips across his brow like a sinner to their god. Isra trembles at the sparks that pass between them, small tendrils of fire and love that wrap around her like whips. The sunlight feels like ash on her skin, ash on her brow, ash made of things that she wants to be anointed in. Isra never thought she would learn to love the sunlight, but she does, she does, she does.
All the anger in Eik's voice only opens wide the mouth of the thing in her that wants. It lounges against her bones. And because it lives inside a story-teller that beast of want (that never wishes, only takes) it already knows how the story will end.
It already knows what it will take even if Isra doesn't.
She has no idea of that the beast of fury in her is anything but rage tempered by the heat between their skin. “Just a little longer,” she begs. Already her eyes are closing and she drapes her head across his spine and tastes the sand (and smoke) on his skin. The glass willow still chimes and she's sweeping away on it, heedless of that thing inside her that is starting to hunger. “Stay with me just a little longer, then we will find him.”
If she wasn't so tired she would have said, then we will have justice and maybe after that we will have blood.
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