So fierce is the passion that burns within my heart, a raging forest fire, unstoppable and all consuming —
Short-lived satisfaction flooded her veins at the sudden rigidity of his stance, as though her words had shone a spotlight on his white eyes, each of them having turned to saucers. It gave her the reprieve she needed to push onward, heedless of the ungainliness of her legs, and to leave the tomb behind her. She didn’t have to peer back into the sand to see the mouth from which she’d crawled, born from a den of musk and bones within the sand, like the cub of some desert cat—its maw remained open, hungry and waiting, and she had no intention to delve back into its midst.
Hälla moved with stilted urgency, only the dizziness of the world stalling her willingness to sprint, and she was mindful of how he turned to accompany her without question. Whether he was wise or foolish, the desert woman could not decide.
But he was kinder, undoubtedly, than the grit that had spat her out; or the haughty men of her nightmares; or the flame-kissed serpents that had guided her into the tomb.
Her spine drew taut as her head lifted, the glare of the sunlight not yet enough to drown out the sight of her ambition. Her mind remained a dizzily muddled thing, and she knew the bursts of memory would intensify in the days to come. She knew in the same way that her lungs knew to draw breath; that inevitable, insatiable, instinctual tide. When the time for remembering came, she would not be able to deny it.
The realization didn’t stop the words that slipped from her lips like tattered silk, as coarse as they were soft. Nor did it keep her from angling her head back to glance at him, her lips clamping together, betraying the tension of a slight, feline smile.
Hälla did not deign to immediately answer his inquiry.
“You worry a great deal for others. For strangers,” she observed with frankness, her moony eyes lingering upon his countenance as she walked with confidence—the mare could’ve stumbled to her knees and she would have, even then, risen without consequence.
As it were, she marched on with relative ease.
“What would you call me then, if not a damsel? I’ve given you no name, either,” the smile she gave him betrayed only mild curiosity. It was another gauge of character, however abstract it might’ve been. Beyond that, it was easier than testifying to the distress that did flutter within the depths of her heart; disarming in its mounting strength as she heeded the vast nothingness of their surroundings.
You knew the desert once, a sliver of her soul spoke harrowingly into her mind, pouring reservoirs of strength into her quivering muscles. Know it again.
Or was it a forest? Another splinter argued. Winding, twisting—a mirror within itself, with too few faces and too much blood. Endless warring, and boundless indifference—
Her steps stuttered, her hoof snagging upon a rock, and Hälla’s jaw ground together as she forced her focus to draw forward. Avallac’h had spoken again, and the threatening allure of conflicted memories that ached to drown her. She forced herself to heed neither of them, even as his question forced her to confront the disarray.
Where was she going?
Solterra. Never beyond the desert; never outside Solis’ arms—
Away. Get away.
She didn’t know.
“I was resting,” she replied, as though the answer had been clear. It wasn’t a lie—just a sugarcoated truth. “For far too long.” How long, she still couldn’t say for certain. And despite not knowing her destination, she drew in a breath to surround her fluttering heart, her gaze steeled as she continued onward. “But for now, away from this hellish place.”
“What about you?” She diverged swiftly from the topic of her. Whether she legitimately cared for his answer, she couldn’t say for certain—it was a worthy distraction, either way. “What brings you out here?”
Speech, @"Avallac'h"
