I do not know more than the Sea tells me,
told me long ago, or I overheard Her
telling distant roar upon the sands,
waves of meaning in the cradle of whose
sounding and resounding power I
slept.
But would it hurt you if I did? The question, inexplicably, surprises her. Boudika cannot blame him for asking; it is what she might have asked, if it were him. But the undercurrent of their conversation has been, the entire evening, a sense of belonging. Does he not understand how he has already hurt her, by being unobtainable? Does he not see, even this conversation has leadened her with a strange weight? Boudika knows that she has hurt him with her truth, and evoked his jealousy. She hears it in his slow breath.
But regardless, Tenebrae's question tires her in a way nothing else has this night. Not even her long, frightening swim to the cave. The storm continues to lash outside the walls; the sea continues to well; and in the deep she knows there are creatures that went after their trail of blood, only to find them land-bound. Yes. The question tires Boudika, because it makes her come to the realisation that she might not feel pain like others do. “Yes.” Her admission is simple; perhaps it is even understated. But Boudika will not say more than that.
If Tenebrae left—yes, it would hurt.
But Boudika is accustomed to the people she cares for leaving. It seems an expectation for her, at this point; the ephemerality of sentiments, loyalty, devotion. They are only words, after all. What gives meaning to them? There is a small, tight, sad smile on her face. It would hurt her, at first; but it would be a flesh wound. It would be another emotional scar to add to the rest and, the more she accumulates, the more certain Boudika is she can survive anything.
So she does not reveal more, except for kisses and brushes of skin against skin.
I do not know, he says. But you make me want to see.
And it is in this admission, this uncertainty, that Boudika knows he will be lost to her.
For whatever reason, Boudika does not draw away; no; she draws as much comfort and warmth from this moment, this meeting, as she can. In it's transience, it has become perfect as few things are. Their truths are laid bare. No one has made promises, or demanded change. They have only revealed theirselves, naked and bare, to be left upon the cavern floor. They are two lonely souls, entwined in darkness. They are two lonely souls and, perhaps, that is all.
Is it chance or a god’s decree, Boudika?
The question is one she has been too afraid to ask herself; but from his mouth, in his voice, it manifests so purely it is almost physical. She closes her eyes and rests her cheek against the flat of his neck. She keeps it there, a steady pressure and warmth. Boudika does not even know if she believes in gods as he does; and in the questioning of it, she realises that she doesn’t and never will. Gods, to Boudika, are old and untranslatable. Caligo, despite her blessing of magic (or her curse) remains unreachable. No, Boudika believes in gods as she believes in the amorphous island and the sea: they are powerful, and primordial, and utterly indifferent.
“Tenebrae,” she says at last. “I think it is whatever we make of it.” Boudika has lived by codes, and nearly died by them; and in her world of magic and men and gods and monsters, it has always seemed as if everything is wrought not by fate but by choice, by decision.
What she is too afraid to say: it is whatever you choose for it to be, Tenebrae. Boudika will not force that belief upon him. Not tonight. Not when, as they stand, she has already begun to sway. The fatigue of the day has caught up to her; and with the storm raging outside, and the fire dying, the only thing left to do is lay down and sleep.
When he leaves the next morning, Boudika is awake. But she does not rise or open her eyes; she only listens to the sound his hooves make as they transition from stone-to-sand, and the steady breath he makes. When he leaves, Boudika does not say anything at all.
In some ways, it seems like he made his choice. But she is not alone as she had once been. No, Boudika walks from the cave and when the sunlight hits her, she becomes a bird of prey and kisses, instead, the sky. The sea would ask too much of her today.
It always does.
"Speech." || @Tenebrae || eee closer <3 what a lovely thread!
come back to the shores of what you are
come back to the crumbling shores
