If there are words to her song, beyond the visceral vibration in her throat, Warset has forgotten them in the falling. There is only the swelling of her heart, the roaring of her blood, and the way the comet feels like it's pulling something out of her when it tightens. She presses her lips to the center of it and hums a hush, hush into the fire and molten rock. The comet pulls away from them, dissolving into a virgin nebula with muffled a roar.
Warset walks in that direction, the stardust hanging about her head like glittering, cosmic halo. If there is anything divine in it, in the way the stardust pulls to her like a moon to sun, she has forgotten the why of that in the falling too. A mountain cuts at her knee and light pools in the wound and runs down her leg like a river. And where each drop hits the world below them flowers and foals bloom, each unfolding their heads to the light like poems from the ink of a old book. Her wings flutter in the same way, folding and unfolding like a thing caught in an eddy of the whitewater river of life.
And even that has no meaning to her anymore. The blood, the blooming, the language of her wings-- it's all nothing more than motions of a dream, a flicker caught in between brightness and darkness.
She turns to him with a question in her eyes and that visceral hum still caught in her throat. There are words there, beyond the hum, but each scrapes like a blade at her lungs and refuses to find easy purchase on the tip of her tongue. It's only when he pulls away and stops that she realizes that this time, in this world with mountains cutting her knees and children running around her hoofs like each an an idol, that she is the knot and he the rope.
There is nothing playful in the way she moves up to brush against him. There is only the heat of contact, of idols brushing (gold to stone, silver to ore). There is only the way she breathes against his skin and presses her nose to his neck as if he might smother the humming in her lungs. I did not create you. She chokes out on a stardust hum, each word falling from her lips tangled with cosmic dust and the light of creation.
A tremble rattles though her body and somewhere in the world bellow her belly it starts to rain.
Somewhere a flower drowns in her sorrow.
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