azrael
The glade is quiet while Elena works, a lump forming in his throat as he watches her at her craft. Her touch is gentle, even as the labor draws concentration to her face, the owl settling at Elena’s soothing voice. In this moment, Azrael ceases to exist – there is only the healer and the patient, a delicate task at hand. He watches them in silence, wincing along with the owl as her pain sears in him once more, the two inexplicably bonded by a strange and beautiful magic. But at the same time, he knows that the owl feels something else now – safety, trust (albeit a cautious trust), and comfort.
When the golden mare turns away, she leaves the bandaged bird much more comfortable and stabilized. The owl shivers and ruffles her feathers, pained cries now a demure coo as she butts her head against Elena in gratitude before tenderly walking toward Azrael and settling at his feet.
“Noctua,” he whispers. “There is an owl in the night sky – a small bird on the tail of the Hydra.” So he would call the feathered creature, who seemed to consent to the christening with a quiet hoot. “Thank you.” Azrael’s gratitude is sincere as he steps closer to Elena once more, wonder and appreciation in his warm gaze, his lips lifting to her face to tuck a strand of her mane behind her ear. His touch becomes a caress, his voice a whisper for only her to hear, affectionate and teasing.
“If I want to see you again?” He chuckles incredulously, touching his temple to hers as their eyes lock and hold. “We will return, to this place where the stars meet the sea…” His promise lingers as he turns to gather up the bird, tenderly tucking her into a hastily fashioned sling of leaves and twine. “But you are always welcome to my mountains. Come when you will – and together, we can weave tales long into the night.”
With that, he reluctantly pulls away with a final glance, before turning toward Denocte as the misty fog dissipates and the stars begin to shine on Terrestella once more.
@
