( Not fraught, the shift of one grip for another, the swords for the hand that wields them. Not cut on their sharper edges, grinding against each other in rasping concerto, but finding the hollower spaces, near liminal, inbetween.
Soothing, and it does not soothe, not for him. Easing, and again, for whom? No fur to set to rights, but a different soothing, side by side, when warmth leeches from and into his hand, with words exchanged and the bottle set aside and left. Soothed in being worth gestures that are incomprehensible at first, at family, at acceptance in some forms, if not all.
By the words, I do not hunt my memories. To be seen, and not to hold the knife's edge of knowledge that cuts deep in hand, waiting for it to fall.
He gives his hand to Lan Zhan, and he smiles, lashes half lowered. )
I see you. ( Gaze raised, to meet Lan Zhan's eyes, dark and rich like the skies on new moons and the depths of waters and tree bark stark against white snow in winter, all things natural and immense and also seen by eyes with a sense of appreciation. )
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Soothing, and it does not soothe, not for him. Easing, and again, for whom? No fur to set to rights, but a different soothing, side by side, when warmth leeches from and into his hand, with words exchanged and the bottle set aside and left. Soothed in being worth gestures that are incomprehensible at first, at family, at acceptance in some forms, if not all.
By the words, I do not hunt my memories. To be seen, and not to hold the knife's edge of knowledge that cuts deep in hand, waiting for it to fall.
He gives his hand to Lan Zhan, and he smiles, lashes half lowered. )
I see you. ( Gaze raised, to meet Lan Zhan's eyes, dark and rich like the skies on new moons and the depths of waters and tree bark stark against white snow in winter, all things natural and immense and also seen by eyes with a sense of appreciation. )
I'll find you. Come morning.