[AW] Peace in the Sea of Grass

[Marisol]

with sword
and salt

The fields of Terrastella are some of its most peaceful places, especially at dawn.

The grass is yellow, green and gold, and it ripples in perfect waves against the kiss of the wind. In the sky the sun is starting to bleed out watery streaks of pink, yellow and purple into the previously clear dark-blue; thin whisps of cloud, more transparent than translucent, are lit to fire by the dawn. Marisol stands perfectly still in the fields with her head tilted up and watches the changing colors with just-concealed awe. For all her Terrastellan loyalty, there is something so calm about the introduction of the dawn, how it comes in raindrops and not in waves. And gods know she needs to be calm now more than ever.

She runs her tongue (carefully) around her newly-sharp teeth and tries to stifle a sigh. It hardly works.

For many long minutes, the Commander stands in perfect silence. She closes her eyes. The breeze whooshes past and ruffles her short, dark hair and lashes; the smell of wheat and new flowers fills her flared nostrils; there is a brief moment in which she feels nothing but the sensations of the world and the dull song of her heart in her chest. Then something changes.

The smell—she can smell someone, on top of the flowers and dew. Mari cracks an eye open. Against the bleeding yellow-and-pink, a silhouette is moving steadily through the fields, a silhouette Marisol doesn’t recognize. Which is unusual. She prides herself on keeping an eye on the comings-and-goings of her court; to see a stranger is not too common a thing. Marisol rolls her shoulders, as if waking herself up from a deep sleep, and starts slowly toward the silhouette.

“By her Hand,” she calls out, with an unusual amount of warmth, and then adds as an afterthought, “Good morning.”

credits