well, then I'd rather be wild
O is not thinking of whether the kelpie will approach from the cliffs or the sea. She is more preoccupied with the anticipation of whether she will approach at all, and the nagging thought of it makes her whole body ache with paranoia.
So when Andi does appear, it sends a jolt running through her like lightning, half pleasure and half relief. Apolonia—her head snaps toward the sound of the emissary’s voice, and when they lock eyes, O still picking her way down the cliffs, she can’t help the wide, breathless grin that spills over her mouth. (She snaps her mouth closed a millisecond later, but the damage must have already been done. In front of anyone else, it would be embarrassing; but for some reason she does not feel flustered by showing her pleasure so easily, or at the very least, doesn’t care how enthusiastic it might look.)
Standing patiently in the white sand, Andi is the same beautiful, pearlescent silver that O remembers from their last meeting. The bright orange of her head piece burns like a firework against the gray sky, and in the dancing light of the bonfires shadows play over her skin like puppets; and despite herself she can’t help wondering what stories might lie underneath those shadows, and what she might do to uncover them. Around them the cliffs are packed with bodies, but O doesn’t notice a single one of them. Her eyes are trained only on the emissary.
When we’re apart I always forget quite how beautiful you are. In a way that is violently unlike her, O's whole face scrunches up in pleasure. A blush floods the white portions of her face, and when she ducks her head to her chest for a brief moment, the three bright eyes glint with just-contained delight. "Anandi." Her voice is low and gentle; the emissary's name spoken in mixture of obvious delight at seeing her with a shy, self-conscious kind of warmth, as if O cannot quite believe Andi likes her. Perhaps she can't.
She follows in Anandi's footsteps as they take a wide path around the bonfires and the crowds that surround their flames. O is entranced. The mood of the night is magic, and in the faint, flickering light, everything looks like a fairytale. Here the strangers are towering, beautiful and magnificent; the light of the moon drips down in thin silver streams.
What beauty there is in this world, she thinks. And despite her better judgement, O cannot resist the urge to reach out and brush the soft black velvet of her mouth against Andi's hip as they walk. She even dares, for the briefest moment, to press her cheek to the emissary's shoulder; and the warmth that radiates from her, the fact that O can feel the throb of her pulse like a drumbeat through the dark, makes the Solterran's mind go instantly hazy.
"My father was murdered," she answers softly. "When I was very young; he was a Crow from Denocte, friends with the old king Reichenbach. And my mother was Regent of Solterra, for a time. She's still alive, and fine. Just... solitary. Still grieving, maybe. They didn't have the chance to give me any siblings." O's lips purse; a beat passes, of pregnant silence. "And you?"
