siver

There were some things Elisa knew she would never get used to.

Goliath's arm was firmly around her and she knew she was safe; she could stare at the sky above lit by the silver moon and stars closer now than before and the city below in a sight both comfortingly familiar for how many times she walked those streets and utterly new, lit by a thousand glows of streetlamps and car lights as people went about their business like any other day in a mosaic spread before her.

There were some things she would never get used to and it was for the better if it meant a breathtaking sight like this every time.

It is a comfortable night. They're here, all together and the fire crackles pleasantly. She reaches a hand towards it and feels nothing. She tries to tell herself she's getting used to it. She is getting used to it. It's not all bad after all. It's still pretty and provides light. In a way it's like a painting, but better. She can enjoy the appearance without feeling the heat. At least she can't burn herself, or rather she wouldn't feel the pain of doing so, and that's good, isn't it?

Lloyd laughs at a comment she didn’t catch. It's a happy night with her friends. They'll have many happy days and nights ahead of him. The journey will end and they can have this for as long as they want and she is so, so happy for them.

She can’t feel the warmth of the fire, but she can take a different warmth from her friends and give it back in turn. She smiles.

It has not been a good day, the moogle decides, nudging the unsatisfactory basket with his foot. A couple wrinkly striped apples, and the one fish he managed to catch rest at the bottom.

He might have a word with old farmer Elmoah. Such poor quality doesn’t bear thinking about kupo. Fishing hasn’t been good either and a slew of muffled muttering around the handle of a half-empty basket sounds through the still evening as flies his slow way home.

It’s dark by the time he returns and he fumbles around sorting out the poor basket and lighting a lamp. Tired from such a bothersome day, he slumps into the rocking chair by the hearth, prepared to settle in for the rest of the evening.

Time passes before he shivers and slides off the chair with a muttered kupo. He wheezes through a cloud of dust as he prods at the hearth. It has grown more difficult which seems decidedly unfair for the want of simple heat. Perhaps that lilty lad could take another look soon.

With a sneeze and a startled kupheh a spark at last sets the wood alight and the room is filled with the warm crackle of the fire.

He peers around blearily. Yes, the young lad could certainly be furnished with some work. Despite the fire’s warmth a chill quivers through him. Quite abominable how messy it’s become, kupo. Busy is as busy does and as busy leaves, or aching feet as it were. How they ache. It seems only yesterday he danced at the festival while they celebrated another year and another drop of myrrh.

How many months now? Months? Yes… months… They’ll no doubt be back soon. He hopes his wings and feet will be up to the task of celebration.

Oh he does ache and grumblingly clambers back into his chair. The fire is good. Warmth and company is most welcome. The chair is soothing as it rocks him back and forth, back and forth…

The fire has died. It’s morning now, dust drifting, almost sparkling in the weak sunbeam through his window. He strolls out with a merrily hummed tune around the basket of flowers. It’s a day of gifts and no one will be left lacking. He flaps his wings and again and a third time before taking to the air. The paths are harder to traverse these days, and he flies to the village centre.

One flower given to each. Here she danced with light and airy steps. Here the couple showed their joy in a new life’s start to come. And here the children’s laughter rang loud and clear. There the elder hemmed and hawed through a story to a barely kept audience. And here, here the caravan gathered. One by one they are given, flowers for all, splashes of muted colour over dull stone.

Flowers for all, withered stems in the grey light.