my roots run deep into the hollow
Even in the rain and the night, the other woman is like sunlight—like rich desert sand. In the light of her axe, even dimmed, she is gilded and brilliant. Like shadows and sun they are opposites, standing across from each other with the mists and the plinking of rain off windows and cobblestone.
Antiope blinks as the droplets fall upon her lashes and the woman looks to the sky with a wry smile. “I won’t melt,” she lifts her axe a little higher, brightening the shadows around her eyes, “and when I am tired of being wet I can warm myself by a nice fire, I think.” A nice fire, roaring and crackling, with the rain pounding against the windows, would be a great end to this night indeed.
They stand there, strangers, but the closeness of their shadows thrown upon the walls almost tells a different story. Antiope’s sapphire blue eyes settle, a moment too long, on the sun and sand woman’s of brightest, softest blue. She smiles and shakes her head just the smallest bit. What stands of her hair have fallen from her bun are long since glued to her skin by the rain.
Something about the rain, and the night, and the dim glow of her axe’s light, makes her feel a little more emboldened than Antiope thinks she normally would be. So when she speaks, “I don’t sleep much, and when I don’t sleep I desire to move,” what comes out isn’t exactly what she expects. “And very little can keep me from what I desire.”
Least of all rain. Least of all, least of all.
“What brings you out into these deluged streets?” The striped woman’s head tilts, ever so slightly. There are none of Denocte’s usual fires to guide their way, none of the usual late-night crowds to get lost in, but Antiope finds she likes it better this way.
"Speaking."
Antiope blinks as the droplets fall upon her lashes and the woman looks to the sky with a wry smile. “I won’t melt,” she lifts her axe a little higher, brightening the shadows around her eyes, “and when I am tired of being wet I can warm myself by a nice fire, I think.” A nice fire, roaring and crackling, with the rain pounding against the windows, would be a great end to this night indeed.
They stand there, strangers, but the closeness of their shadows thrown upon the walls almost tells a different story. Antiope’s sapphire blue eyes settle, a moment too long, on the sun and sand woman’s of brightest, softest blue. She smiles and shakes her head just the smallest bit. What stands of her hair have fallen from her bun are long since glued to her skin by the rain.
Something about the rain, and the night, and the dim glow of her axe’s light, makes her feel a little more emboldened than Antiope thinks she normally would be. So when she speaks, “I don’t sleep much, and when I don’t sleep I desire to move,” what comes out isn’t exactly what she expects. “And very little can keep me from what I desire.”
Least of all rain. Least of all, least of all.
“What brings you out into these deluged streets?” The striped woman’s head tilts, ever so slightly. There are none of Denocte’s usual fires to guide their way, none of the usual late-night crowds to get lost in, but Antiope finds she likes it better this way.
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a war is calling
the tides are turned
the tides are turned
