It has been too long, he realizes with a start, since he has laughed like this. He thinks he may have forgotten how, may have lost the sound of it somewhere between the sound of crying and screaming — between the sounds of a war and the silence of coming home from it.
But he finds that his lungs remember the sound of it. And once he starts, he cannot stop.
The water makes him forget about the coldness of the forest surrounding them, and the way frost is creeping higher and higher on the trees each night. And the fireflies make him forget the way they had met, and the way the witch woman’s crow hangs slumped along her shoulders (and he forgets, too, the way Odet guards his desk in the castle, as cold and still as any statue.)
And then there is the magic of the night, lighting a fire in his veins to keep him warm leading into the long winter ahead of them.
So he races through the water after Corrdelia, and wonders at the way his steps feel more like dancing than running (another thing he thought he had forgotten how to do.) And his voice starts to sound more like music than war cries, when he tilts his head towards the moon like a wolf rejoining its pack.
Winter feels so very far away, when he's in the company of friends.
"Thank you," he tells her, breathless and smiling, when he catches up to her again in the water. And even when he is not sure what he is thanking her for —
it feels like he is thanking her for everything.
But he finds that his lungs remember the sound of it. And once he starts, he cannot stop.
The water makes him forget about the coldness of the forest surrounding them, and the way frost is creeping higher and higher on the trees each night. And the fireflies make him forget the way they had met, and the way the witch woman’s crow hangs slumped along her shoulders (and he forgets, too, the way Odet guards his desk in the castle, as cold and still as any statue.)
And then there is the magic of the night, lighting a fire in his veins to keep him warm leading into the long winter ahead of them.
So he races through the water after Corrdelia, and wonders at the way his steps feel more like dancing than running (another thing he thought he had forgotten how to do.) And his voice starts to sound more like music than war cries, when he tilts his head towards the moon like a wolf rejoining its pack.
Winter feels so very far away, when he's in the company of friends.
"Thank you," he tells her, breathless and smiling, when he catches up to her again in the water. And even when he is not sure what he is thanking her for —
it feels like he is thanking her for everything.
@corrdelia !
”here am i!“
