He was named after a tree. Eik. Oak. But he's never felt still enough to be a tree. His heart was never happy in the place it was at. It was always dreaming of just around the corner or after the next sand dune and once he turned the corner or crested the dune it would just start dreaming of the next place, the next sight, the next thing that felt remotely right. His heart was hungry for all those years, for all those long years, and he assumed it was searching for a place. Of course, and We already know this,
it was not searching for a place but a thing. Another heart.
Hers.
When warmth floods back to a frozen limb, it hurts. When she says I love you it hurts. He loves every bit of that pain, he leans into it with delight as he steps closer and wraps around her as if to say yes I know and I love you too.
Oh, how his heart trembles at her nearness, and how his skin grows hot at her touch. What he wouldn't give to stay here, beneath the rustling leaves, at the edge of the clear mountain water. He understands, now, how the willow is content to huddle over the water, how the oak can stand there for centuries with its arms stretched to the sky and still radiate a knowing joy. He understands because Isra's heart is racing away and his body, wrapped around hers, is ready to lay down roots in the damp, hearty soil. go on, his head speaks to his heart. I'll stay here, you go on-- and oh, how that most selfish of organs t thu-thump thu-thumps its way after her. They rush down the river and out to sea, past the shoreline to where the water is a deep, dark blue, the color of lost dreams.
"I love you too."
This soul. It hurts, it heals, it runs, it roots down into the earth. It laughs and cries.
Nose tucked into her neck, he inhales deeply. "When this is all over," his voice is low, like there's a secret he's about to share, like there's else anyone around to hear it, "I don't want to go back." He looks down the mountain. Solterra on one side, Denocte on the other, Delumine and Terrastella before them. How tiresome it is, these games of power and politics. How dangerous it is to be anything but selfish. How endless.
He licks his lips. "But I don't know if it will ever be over." How could they not be who they are, with their wild and bleeding hearts. How could they turn their backs on the people they serve, the ones they call home? Raum will fall-- it is the only eventuality he knows with certainty, for Eik could not let the man live after this-- but some other snake will rise to take his place, and they will stay to cut them down, and whoever rises next. Or the gods will tire of this land once more, set it on fire or underwater. Someone will always want Isra's throne, or her heart, or her head. There is no end to all of this, no forseeable way out.
He sighs, cupping the water with his telekinesis and gently washing his lover's face with it. His touch is particularly gentle, and attention particularly focused (so focused that a small frown tugs at his lips) as he inspects the wound on her lip and delicately cleans it with the river water. He does not have the magic to create a bandage or the knowledge to mix a poultice, but he at least knows well how to clean a wound.
Eik is no longer frowning, but his eyes are still troubled. There is another thing he knows. “He’s never going to touch you again.”
the sunset and the gentle moon
E I K
the blessed motion of the leaves and the murmuring of waters
art by Footybandit
@Isra your post slayed me ;_;
Time makes fools of us all
