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Aloy's mind was racing.
Had been racing since she left the craggy, fire-swept shores of Los Angeles, the teeth of the old world jutting up from the sea, threatening to close down on her with each pass she made on her Waterwing, back and forth over the islands as she hunted down the last Zenith with...
Well.
Seyka was in touch with Alva now, working on getting the fractured Quen reunited. She had patched in Kotallo, too, with the hopes that introducing the Quen to the Lowland Tenakth would be beneficial for both tribes. Maybe the Quen could see that the barbarians from the mainland were worth more than the salt in their hair and the sharpness of their blades. That maybe the Tenakth, having learned to work with one another, could learn to work with others as well.
There is work to do, Aloy knows that. Though it pains her to step back from something that could have been, she has no room for distractions- not while the world is at stake.
If Elizabet could do it...
... so can she.
But in the meantime... her mind is racing.
Aloy is no stranger to lust.
There are evenings around the fire after clearing the scum from the cracks in the earth. She cleans her spear, restrings her bow, a pair of grey eyes on her. She stares back, challenging.
Then, lips, and tongues, and teeth.
The sweet release of pleasure after a rush of adrenaline. Large, warm hands dragging down her skin, grasping, pulling new sensations out of her.
And afterwards, the comfort of arms around her as she sleeps. He keeps watch, ensuring she is rested enough to continue her journey.
Not knowing but understanding the importance of it.
It happens again, and again. After each camp they clear together. Then again, after that final race under the stars. Her body succumbing to the familiarity of her first.
And then there was Redmaw. After the machine falls Aloy looks at the now Sunhawk, her skin sheen with sweat, the pout of her full lips calling, pulling her toward something new. Talanah must feel it, too, because it doesn't take long for the two of them to fall into the tall grass. This is softer, sweeter. Not better, but different. The line of her curves a decadent swipe against the hard machine plating of her armour. Afterwards, Talanah laughs as she cleans the makeup that has smeared on both of them. There is no long, languid rest for them- Aloy has to move on, and Talanah has to inform the hunter's lodge of Ahsis' fall.
It isn't the adrenaline rush that does it for her, that much is clear. There are plenty of battles that don't lead to... memorable times with her battle partner. It's the energy of her partner, she decides. "Vibe check", as an old one wrote once, and it seems to fit what Aloy feels about each situation. The intensity that is Nil, the passion that is Talanah. Once she reaches the west, there is another pull that... well, she couldn't fulfill at the time. The leader of Arrowhand buries his dead after their battle. Then there is a clan to rule, a child to save. His charm, that easy banter between them... it tickles that spot deep within her that desires more with him, but the timing is never right. Then she goes out to the Burning Shores and feels it with Seyka
but... It's something different. Something more? Something she can't quite put her finger on.
Something she can't follow, not yet at least.
After Nemesis is taken care of... hopefully it isn't too late by then.
Aloy's mind is racing as she flies back to her base, the moon full in the sky, the stars pointing her east. The feeling left on her skin after their moment on the beach is one she can't quantify.
She left Seyka behind with a hug, with the potential of someday, but she can't process... she wishes that there was someone at the Base who could help her walk through it. Someone to lay out the pieces so she can puzzle it together herself. But the only people who remain are Beta- sweet, but arguably as bad with people as she is. And Sylens. Arguably worse with people than she is.
She glances to the south and thinks of Nil, standing beneath the lights of Vegas. Could she go to him for advice on her... love life? Or maybe she could fly past the Base, keep going all the way until sunrise. Find Talanah.
Or Zo (she just lost her partner.)
Or Erend (he's like a brother to me, I don't want to hear about his love life.)
Kotallo is basically a stone wall. She isn't sure that Alva would stop squealing if she tried to talk to her.
There is a flash of light on the ground and Aloy glances down, watching the moon glint across the panels of glass that surround the desert capital as she flies past. Something catches inside of her, and she decides that there is someone she can talk to. Someone who can feel people out with ease. She pulls a cable and veers her Waterwing around, back towards the tower in the centre of Scalding Spear. She finds a suitable perch, hops off the machine. It glances around, looking almost indignant at the amount of dirt surrounding it.
“I know, I know,” she says, patting its hind. “I'll get you back to the water soon.”
The machine squawks, shaking its head and ruffling the membrane of its tail. Aloy smirks at that. She had never considered the machines to have... personality, and yet the longer she is with them, the more it appears. She briefly considers combing through its programming- maybe after the override, its constitution matrix changes... Another time, though. She turns towards the settlement, steps to the edge of the tower, and leaps off.
The night guard is on duty, unfamiliar soldiers dotting stations, their weapons sheathed in the quiet calm of the late hour. The soldier standing watch near the Commander's tent straightens his posture as Aloy approaches, nodding at her as he recognizes Hekarro's Champion. She motions towards the tent opening.
“He in there?”
The soldier nods again.
“Thanks,” she breezes past him, pushing open the tent flap and seeing only darkness within.
On instinct, she pulses her Focus, highlighting Drakka's sleeping form on his cot.
Oh.
Right.
Part of her assumed that he would be awake. He told her once, sitting on his overlook, sharing spicy roasted bird, that he got very little sleep in his new role. The management not just of water distribution, but of keeping the settlements happy, of keeping his people happy, was enough to keep him tossing and turning half the night. If he managed to get to sleep, she should come back in the morning.
So she turns to go.
“Desert Flame?”
She turns back, his highlighted form now pushing up from his cot, the purple light fading.
“Sorry, Drakka,” she puts her hands up. “I didn't mean to wake you up.”
“Nah.” A lamp illuminates the dark, Drakka pulling his hand away as her eyes adjust to the light. “To be honest, I wasn't really sleeping.”
“Tough day?” she asks, allowing the flap to shut behind her as she steps into the tent.
“Not particularly,” he shrugs, reaching for the canteen he keeps beside his cot. “Just more of the same.”
“Mmm,” Aloy nods. She understands. Though she isn't a leader of anything, per se, she knows the pressure of trying to keep people safe. Of everyone wanting something from you.
Drakka grabs his canteen, then pauses, giving it a shake. His shoulders slump as he finds it empty. Instinctively Aloy reaches for her own, passing it to him without a second thought. His eyes meet hers, warm brown and round, soft, like the rest of him. His face is bare, clean of his war paint and without the obfuscation of clay and pigment it's easier to see that his face doesn't have the straight lines and hard angles of other men she knows, but... it suits him. It gives him a look of youth and innocence that leave people underestimating him, until he moves into action. He takes her canteen slowly, as if he's unsure of her intention, watching her closely, his posture guarded. It's then that she realizes the intimacy of the situation. They're alone in his quarters late at night, his face free of paint, which, according to Kotallo, is definitely a thing with Tenakth. And the water...
“Is this... appropriate?” she asks, suddenly shy. “I mean, sharing my water canteen with you?”
The tension snaps and his shoulders drop again. A smile breaks across his face as he breathes out a laugh.
“Right,” he nods, unscrewing the top of the container. “You wouldn't...” He takes a long drink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he finishes, then hands it back to her. “Right.”
“Sorry-”
“Don't-”
There is fumbling. The canteen slips from her grasp just as Drakka lets go and it drops to the ground. They both dive at the same time, colliding on the floor, as they both reach to stop the water from spilling. With a bonk, Drakka's forehead collides with her headpiece.
“Ah!” he reaches for his forehead.
“Oh! Sorry!” She reaches out to pull his hand away, checking to see he isn't seriously injured.
“It's- ahh!”
Drakka's hand shoots out again, grabbing the canteen that has definitely now spilled on the ground. He sighs as he picks it up, finally flipping over the top and sealing it. It's hard to make out in the dim light, but there is a definite red spot on his forehead.
“Who knew that farmer gear could be so hard?” he says with a laugh.
“Sorry,” she pulls the headpiece off, placing it on the ground next to them. “It keeps the sun out of my eyes.”
He sits back, looping his arms around his knees, and Aloy relaxes as well. For all of the hurt and anger that Drakka held when they first met, he has still grown in the short time they've known each other. She has seen him become the leader he needed Yarra to be, that the clan needed Yarra to be. Open, and honest. Putting his people before himself.
“So,” he stretches his neck to either side, releasing a grunt as he does. “What brings the Flame of the Desert to my quarters hours before sunrise?”
Oh, right.
“I, uh...” she leans against his cot, stretching her legs out in front of her. “I need... some advice, actually.”
“Oh?”
“On... a person.”
“A person?” He tilts his head questioningly at her. “Is this a good person?”
Aloy nods. “She's... she's a good person.”
A look of comprehension crosses his face, and he breaks into a broad grin. A person.
“She likes you?”
Aloy nods again.
“You like her?”
“I think so,” her fingers play at the hem of her armour, feeling the weave of dry grass and machine parts beneath her fingers. “I do... yes.”
“Then what's the problem?”
“Other than our impending doom?” she shakes her head. “And I am the person in charge of saving us?”
“Right,” Drakka laughs. “Our impending doom.”
Part of Aloy is grateful that she never had to explain Nemesis to the Tenakth- Kotallo had done his duty to Hekarro, who gathered the clan leaders to discuss what to do next.
“And what part of that has anything to do with your good person?” he throws his arm around her shoulders, dragging her closer next to him. She leans in, resting her head on his shoulder.
“I am going to spend the next eighteen months travelling into unfamiliar lands, looking for… I don’t even know what,” she sighs. “An answer. A last hope. Sylens says he may have some leads, but…”
“Sylens?”
“Someone I… work with.”
“Carry on.”
“But I have to spend every moment I can trying to find a… a… Hail Mary.” Aloy throws out the old world expression she had heard used time and time again, referring to Zero Dawn.
Drakka is silent for a moment before he squeezes her shoulder.
“And you can’t do that with this person?”
“She has obligations to her clan, and her family.”
“I see,” he squeezes her arm again. “And you can’t take any time out of your-“
“Highly important, world saving mission. No.”
“I mean,” he gently taps his head against hers. “I’m not complaining, but you’re taking time out of your-“
“- to visit you, yes.”
He lifts his hands. “Just saying.”
“I needed advice.”
“I’m honored you thought of me.”
“You’re good at… people,” Aloy feels her cheeks burn at the admission. “I’m… not.”
“I don’t believe that, Desert Flame. People like you.”
“I’m not sure what to do with them.”
“That’s… more believable.”
She pauses just a moment before she quietly mumbles-
“I like you, though.”
She feels his cheeks rise into a smile.
“I heard that.”
“You heard nothing.”
“I heard you say you like me.”
“Shush,” she laughs, sitting up, and turns to him. She places a finger on his lips just as he goes to speak again.
His lips are pursed beneath her finger, his teasing stopped. Full and pouty, puckered, like a kiss. The feeling returns- the intimacy of the situation that they’re in. She thinks back to the times after the pens, after the Thunderjaw, after the Stormbird.
The vibe check.
She moves so she faces him completely, her foot stretched out alongside his legs, her other leg tucked beneath her. Her finger moves to his chin, grasping it between finger and thumb.
“Hi,” she says.
“Hey,” he says back.
That feeling she has comes rushing back, the one that makes her want to see if they fuck as well as they fight together. Tentatively, as if testing, she cups his cheek with her palm, softly swiping her thumb across his skin, stopping to press at the freckle near his mouth. His eyes have darkened, the pupils blown out as he watches her watching him. His hands have clenched into loose fists, as if it’s taking all of his control to not touch her. She glances down, nodding slightly at his hands, then catches his eye again.
“It’s okay,” she murmurs, barely more than a breath.
Cautiously, his hands lift. With great reverence and care, he places his palms on her thighs, his thumbs making the same sweeping gesture that she makes across his cheek. The wide-eyed look he gives her is full of awe, full of caution; like he’s convinced if he moves too fast she’ll spook, and he gently grips her thighs to pull her over his legs, seating her on his lap.
He’s wearing light fatigues- simple shorts and a loose sleeveless top, the cord to his tags hanging down beneath the collar of his shirt. Without his armor it’s easier to see the ink on his upper arms- there, yes, his stories told on skin, but with room left for more. She pulls down at the collar of his top, trying to get a better look at the lines on his chest, and with one swift motion he pulls the garment off for her.
His legs are warm beneath her thighs, his sun tanned skin contrasted against her own pale complexion. Her fingers move along the edges of his tattoos, taking in the lines of black and red that cover his upper half. From a distance they were sharp, straight angles that zig and zag across his arms and torso. Sharp teeth and claws, portraying the ferocity of his history, but up close, Aloy can see where the ink bled, faded. Softer, upon close examination. Parts where the colour lifted on raised scars. Drakka lets her look over him, rubbing his thumbs along her thighs as she follows the line of ink down his chest to above his belly button, which is raised where hers is a divot. The ink stops there, then starts again just above the line of his shorts.
“This was... a choice?” she says carefully, brushing her fingers over the spot. Her touch elicits movement, an involuntary twitch beneath her.
“It's an honour,” he says.
“What does it mean?” she asks.
“You really want me to get into the stories behind my tattoos right now?”
She laughs. “I guess not.”
His hand drifts upward, touching her face, the skin on his palm calloused and battle- hardened, his touch gentle. His thumb sweeps over her cheek, sending a shiver down her body.
“It’s strange to me,” he puffs out, his other hand now running softly down her arm. “So much
bare skin, but I know that you- if you were Tenakth-”
Aloy bites her lip, thinking of the inkers that she’d watched pounding pigment into the flesh of soldiers for hours on end.
“Does it hurt?” She asks.
“Yeah,” he shrugs lightly. “But after a while it starts to feel good.”
She smiles. Of course the Tenakth would have a ritual that pumps you full of adrenaline.
“Can I ask something of you?” his voice brings her back to the moment, and she sees his gaze has moved upward from her face. “Could you...” his hand brushes the rolls of hair atop her head.
Oh!
Her fingers quickly undo the braids that keep them in place, out of her face. His eyes watch the quick movement of her fingers as she undoes one, then two, and as she reaches for the third his hands move to the next. Ever the fast learner he unties her braid quickly, combing his fingers through to loosen the waves, and smiles as her tresses fall to the side of her face.
The Tenakth mostly keep their hair short- certainly everyone in the desert shears it so it stays off their necks in the heat. As pale and inkless as she is, with her hair as long as it is, it must be quite a sight for him. As she finger combs out the last of the braids, his hand brushes the closest lock behind her ear. He takes a moment to look her over, twirling his fingers through the freed waves. She shakes her head a bit, letting the mop fall back over her shoulders, eliciting a smile from him.
Her eyes drop to his mouth, his wide smile and straight teeth behind it. In the calm of the night she can hear his breathing, feel the air against her sternum. It smells musky, slightly spicy. As if he knows what she’s thinking, his lips close, their natural pout calling to her, dragging her in.
There’s no gasp of surprise when she leans in, presses her lips to his. He expected this. From how his hands move to her hips and squeeze softly, he anticipated this. From the stirring beneath her thighs, he craved this.
His fingers comb into her hair, pulling her face closer to his, his tongue flicking out teasingly, touching her bottom lip briefly before disappearing again. She grunts as she chases it, frowning as he pulls back playfully, a toothy grin flashing across his face before he dives in for another kiss.
The top of her Winterweave suddenly feels tight and it’s nothing for her to drop the arm braces, the chest plate, the headpiece. Drakka’s hand pulls aside the loop of fabric beneath and his mouth moves to the sensitive skin of her neck, placing wet kisses at her pulse as she pulls the cloth away, exposing her chest. Beneath her legs she can feel him pressing against her inner thigh, his movements catching on the hem of her tassets. Both sets of hands dive for the ties at her waist. Drakka, the quick learner, finds the hidden release on the Utaru armor easily and the woven grass and machine parts fall away.
Finally matching, each clad only in shorts, Aloy grasps his face, bending down to place a sweet kiss on his open mouth. He lets a long breath out of his nose, leaning in to press his forehead to hers momentarily before he cards his hand into her hair again, pulling her in for another.
His lips, so full and pouty, remind her of Talanah's- soft and pliable. She drags her teeth across them and bites down. It releases something animal in Drakka, his grasp tightening on her hips, pulling her closer to him. She can feel him, hard and hot, straining against the fabric of his shorts, and her fingers draw the same line across the hem of fabric that she made while examining his tattoos.
“Please,” he grunts into her ear. “Please, Aloy, I-”
She digs two fingers beneath the fabric and pulls down, exposing more of his tan skin, more of the ink that definitely goes all the way down, framing his cock with the same chevrons that line his chest. The dark body hair trails all the way down, thicker near his manhood. He lifts his hips, helping her pull his shorts all the way down, kicking them off into a far corner.
Instead of settling back down he sweeps her into his arms, turning them around and dropping her on his cot.
She lets out a yelp as she falls, laughing as he drops down after her, framing her with his arms and presses his face into her neck, into her hair. Lips and tongue and teeth ravish her skin, her shoulder, down further to the valley between her breasts. She arches her back into his touch, delighting at the way the moisture trails from his tongue cool in the evening air. One of his
calloused, tender hands covers her breast, massaging it gently as his lips move to the other. He licks up the underside of the swell, sucking lightly on her nipple, gently, coaxing it into a hardened peak before looking up at her. His eyes, so bright and eager, catch hers, watching for just a moment before he moves to the other breast, lavishing equal attention there. His hands have moved lower, pulling at the only remaining piece of fabric between them,
unwinding the length of her bindings and dropping them on the ground with the rest of her clothes. He runs his hands down her legs, pulling down the cloth wrapped around her legs as well, then takes a moment to feel her bare skin, the downy hair that covers her legs. His hands run back upwards, moving toward her core, to the spot she aches to feel him, stopping
tantalizingly close.
He sits up then, his eyes raking down her torso. She watches him, puzzling out the look he's giving her, before she realizes he's doing to her what she had done earlier- taking in the look of unfamiliar skin, her own limbs bare of ink where his are adorned.
“Like what you see?” she asks, shooting him a smile.
“You have no idea,” he laughs, leaning in to kiss her again.
His arms close around her, pulling her up into him. She reaches down, shifting his length so she can settle back on his lap with his hardness between them. Her fingers slide into his hair, lightly scratching his scalp before combing through the waves at the back of his neck. His eyes flutter closed at the touch, and Aloy wonders just how long it's been since he's been
shown this kindness. She leans down and presses a kiss to his lips, soft and sweet, and lets herself melt as he kisses her back just as sweetly. Her hands still cupping his face, their lips touching, his breath warm and sweet across her face, she lifts her hips and sinks down on him, aware of the way his hand guides himself to her entrance in tandem.
There's a huff as he drops back onto the cot, his hands grasp her hips as she rolls them, the fullness of him within her rubbing in all of the right places as she moves. Her hands drop to his chest, pressing her weight against him. He flashes her a smile, wrapping his arms around her as his own hips start to move, thrusting up into her. He smiles even as he moans, as his breath comes out, hot and heavy. His eyes watch her for a moment, euphoric, before she rolls in what must be just the right away and they drop shut, his chest lifting with the groan he lets out.
It’s wonderful watching him let go like this. Like the burdens he carries are temporarily put away, allowing him to exist in the moment, just for now.
And, Aloy supposes, hers are too. Her mind wants to turn toward the task ahead, but in that moment he pulls her down into a scorching hot kiss and she’s brought back to the present.
The air turns heavy from the heat of their breaths, hers coming out in puffs with each thrust of his hips. Noises escape her, a whine punctuating each press of his cock into the deepest parts of her. She presses her face into the bedding above his shoulder, stifling her voice
against the fabric.
“Oh, no,” Drakka laughs, his thrusts stopping. He shifts them, pulling out of her for a moment. “I want to hear you, Desert Flame.”
On his knees behind her, he lifts her hips. With strong hands he pulls one leg upward, stopping for a moment to admire the view, then he enters her again. The angle is new, and with the first push of his hips he hits a spot that she had only ever found with fingers, long and deft, sliding and probing. She releases another whine that grows with each smack of his hips against her ass. She almost doesn't notice as his fingers find her most sensitive place, dipping between the lips of her sex to rub gently in time with his thrusts. It fans the flames within her, the stroke of his cock and his fingers lifting her, building her, until the stars appear behind her eyes.
“That's right, that's right” he grunts, his voice thick with effort. “ Ignite for me .”
Aloy does, releasing a cry and collapsing into the cot as her legs give out beneath her. Warm, calloused hands rub up and down her back as she finds her breath. There's a ringing in her ears and it takes a moment for her eyes to focus, but soon the sounds of a sleeping settlement return, the cicadas calling out in the quiet of the night. As she turns to face Drakka, she finds him sitting on the edge of the cot, squeezing his still hard cock.
“Did you-” she glances back up at his face.
He waves her off.
“No need,” he shakes his head. “That was great, Desert Flame.”
She frowns.
“Ugh,” she pitches herself off of the cot, legs shaky as a newborn goat, and drops down in front of him. “Come here.”
With all of the enthusiasm of an Oseram to a delve she takes his cock, pulling back his foreskin to expose the pretty folds of the head, then takes him into her mouth. He gasps, a hand coming up to grasp her hair, not to pull her off but to guide her speed. There's a musky taste on him, her own slick still coating him, and she pulls back to lick all of it off before taking him again, as deep as she can go, her hand caressing the rest.
“Ahh, fuck,” he breathes as his grip tightens in her hair, his hips start to move along with her bobbing. “Fuck, Aloy, fuck me, you feel-”
She hums as she releases him, slowly relaxing her throat and bottoming out on his length. The hairs at the base of his cock tickle her nose, and when she feels the first hot squirt of his spend, the saltiness coating the back of her throat, she pulls off, her hand taking over to stroke him as he spills and spills.
She watches him as he leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, his forehead dropping to her shoulder. She glances around, spotting her waist pouch just out of her reach near the foot of the cot.
“Here,” he murmurs, pulling a rag from somewhere nearby. She takes it, wetting it from her canteen, and cleans him off, laughing as he jumps slightly at the cool touch of the wet cloth.
“That was…” he shakes his head, accepting the soiled rag after she cleans her hands.
“That was great,” Aloy smiles. She moves to the cot next to him, slipping her arm behind his.
She rests her chin on his shoulder, then uses her thumb and finger to turn his face toward her.
“Your forehead looks fine.”
“What’s that?”
“Where you bumped it.”
“Right,” he huffs a laugh. “I almost forgot.”
“Mmm.”
They sit like that for a moment, the sweat dripping down their skin as they calm their hearts and catch their breath. Fatigue takes over, Aloy moving first to lie down. Drakka joins her a moment later, folding his arm behind his head and nodding at Aloy to rest hers on his bicep. She smiles, tracing her finger down the vee of his chest tattoos, brushing straight the hairs that she messes with her ministrations.
“We didn’t exactly solve my problem,” she laughs.
There is no response from the Tenakth beside her, and when she looks up at him, she sees he’s out. Asleep at last.
The sun crests over the mountains, peeking through the doorway as the curtain shifts in the breeze, waking Aloy with the briefest of morning light. She pushes her heels downward, giving her legs a slight stretch as she gets her bearings.
Then, a snore. She looks down to see Drakka’s head resting on her chest, hair mussed, his arm slung across her belly. She lifts her hand to poke him awake, then thinks better of it, running her hand through his hair instead. After all, life in the desert is harsh. He deserves a little softness.
“Mmmuh.” He turns against her skin to stifle his yawn. “Whazzat?”
“Morning,” Aloy responds.
“Already?”
She nods and brushes a stray lock of his hair back. He smiles up at her, eyes soft and sleepy. Pushing himself up with his forearms, he places a smooch on the side of her mouth, then rolls off of the cot.
“Duty calls,” he groans as he grabs his fatigues. Aloy watches as he pulls them on, the fabric catching at the bottom of his ample ass before sliding up. He takes her canteen, shaking it with a questioning look before she gestures at him to finish it. He does, taking a long swig before stretching his arms upward.
“I’ll refill it for you.” He grabs his own empty canteen and ducks into the other side of the commander’s tent, the light from the morning briefly sweeping across her eyes.
With a heavy sigh, Aloy sits up as well, taking a moment to breathe and roll her neck before she reaches for her armor. She hears voices from the other side of the tent wall as she meticulously pulls each piece on, and by the time Drakka returns with their filled canteens, she’s fully dressed, holding the headpiece in one hand.
“Shame.” He lets out an exaggerated sigh as he eyes her dressed form, then passes her the filled canteen.
“Shush,” she grins, then attaches her canteen to her waist.
“So I was thinking about your… person problem,” he says, leaning on the workbench near the doorway.
“Oh?”
He takes a drink of water and glances out the tent flap towards the settlement just waking up for the day.
“Aloy, if she has you thinking about her like this…” he laughs and shakes his head. “She’s very lucky. And I know that Tenakth lives are way too short. If I thought that way about someone, I’d shoot my shot the moment I could. If you wait, it might be too late by the time you do.”
He gives her a look, one full of emotion, of care and concern. She steps closer to him, taking his bare cheeks in her hands and places a sweet kiss on his mouth.
“I’m glad that you’re my friend, Drakka,” she whispers.
He smiles softly at her.
“I’m glad you’re my friend, too,” he replies.
She leaves him to prepare for his day, climbing back up the tower to the Waterwing that perches there, wings spread in the morning sunlight. The machine gives an impatient hum as she checks its joints for dust, preening itself where she brushes dirt away. Satisfied, she hops on its back and takes to the air. As the air rushes past, memories of a shared flight return to her.
That feeling, that shared pull.
Her hand reaches for the Focus.
She hopes it isn't too late.