There is a comfort for Metaphor in this place, surrounded by the scent of Katniss, surrounded by her things. Small tokens dot the sparse furniture, not enough to make the place crowded, but enough for it to feel homey. He could just imagine cut flowers in a crude vase, scraps of cloth to line the hearth. As the fireglow cascades over them, he is washed with a sense of serenity. For the creature who had wandered far too long, it was good to make it home. As he’d felt before, Metaphor is reminded again that his home was in Katniss – not so much this house – for houses could fall to ruin. His love would remain steadfast though. As his life moved forward, he could see himself with no other.
Metaphor offers his beloved a warm smile at her suggestion that he stay with her. At first, he says nothing, but simply walks toward her and lets his lips trail at her nape. Sighing contentedly, he signals agreement. If you wish it, then I will stay here too. Looking around again, he nods approvingly. I can see your tending touches here, and am honored you wish me in your home too. It’s a lovely sort of place, quiet and comfortable.
His gaze shifts again toward Finnick, and for a moment, Metaphor has a glimpse that the bird is injured. What happened to you, friend? His voice is warm and comforting as chocolate eyes seek his mate’s. How can I help? Though Metaphor’s healing powers were muted here, he was still skilled in such things, and there is a piece of his heart which always aches to see another in pain. If nothing else, perhaps he could concoct a healing salve to ease the bird’s pain. Such a regal creature should not be cooped up for long, and he had a sense that Finnick ached to fly once more.
Keres should be fine. he says, almost suddenly… as if the thought had been swirling in his mind and he spoke it aloud if only to reassure himself. After all, he has Maeemo watching over him. Maaemo will keep him safe. Though he hadn’t spoken the goddess’ name in some time, Metaphor still kept that faith that she was somewhere watching over them. He heard her voice in the whisper of wind in the trees, and recognized her touch in the beauty of nature around them. In some ways, he’d scorned the goddess for punishing them… but he had an understanding with the goddess where others had not. They both understood each other, and the gifts that each could bring.
As if recognizing the name of its’ maker, Metaphor’s orb began to glow a bit brighter behind him, lighting up the home with a silvered sort of magic. It is little more than a hollow reminder now though, of a life once led – of magic, and healing, and a thousand fading names.
