metaphor
He comes to her with the sun, when golden sheaves of light fall across the untouched snow like a goddess’ kiss. In the sunlight, his coat seems to almost glow with shades of gold and red, beautiful as a new copper penny. Even Maaemo’s mark upon his shoulder seems to take on a different sort of texture when the sunlight touches it, shimmering like a fish scale in the morning light, appearing gold or green, depending on which direction you were to see it from.
There is certainly a peace to the morning, and he almost regrets stepping in the fresh snow and leaving a trail behind him. But he follows an invisible thread, drawn toward his lover by the unbreakable bond between them even as he spots her in the distance. For a moment, he has to stop and watch her, struck by the beauty of her warrior frame against the stark white and blue landscape. Love blooms in his chest as he takes in the scene, drawing the cold winter air into his lungs with a quiet smile before he continues toward her, snow crumbling softly under his feet.
Good morning, no need to apologize… I don’t worry. You know how to take care of yourself. Still, he has to wonder if they all should worry a bit more, with the chaos of Novus hitting closer and closer to home. Banishing the thoughts, he rests his forehead against the warmth of her neck, drawing in the scent of her. Did the peace of the morning help?
He knew she was restless of late, and could not blame her for needing fresh air. All of them needed time to regroup and strategize about what came next, lest mornings like this became fewer and further between with the peace of Denocte shattered. He does not question her further, simply giving her support rather than giving into his own curiosity, as was his way. Looking about, he notes that her companion appears absent, and wonders quietly, Where has Finnick gone? Is his wing healing better?
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