It’s not often Evren lets her guard down in such a way, and neither is it often that she sees the same vulnerability in Persephone. She has witnessed it before: once just after Sabran’s birth, when Persephone’s eyes had been hazy with exhaustion and love, and again in the heat of battle, when they had both been afraid for the herd and for their own lives.
Now, in the soft light of twilight, Evren’s silent question is answered when she sees this vulnerability again. Still, doubt persists, sitting in her throat like a rock, and she listens with bated breath until it’s clear whether Persephone will gently let her down or whether she’ll confirm the suspicions that Evren’s held close for some time.
When at last the words come, the tension building up in Evren releases, and the tears begin to flow. Her mouth twitches upwards and she lets out a laugh that’s little more than a sharp exhale of breath. Nerves dancing in her belly, she briefly tears her gaze away from Persephone, as the awkward newness of this situation becomes too much. She feels girlishly shy when she finds Persephone’s gaze again, and for a moment she’s torn, filled with the desire to run and buck and scream her happiness to the heavens.
She can’t bring herself to disturb the quiet sweetness of the moment, however, so instead she leans into the warmth of Persephone’s neck, where her tears flow more freely and dampen the soft roan fur there. She breathes in Persephone’s scent and basks in her heat, branding this moment in her mind so that she’ll never forget it.
Without pulling away, Evren finally breaks the silence with soft words murmured into Persephone’s shoulder. “You know how I’ve named my kids after my loved ones? Han after my father, and Arkana after my mother?”
Finally she extricates herself, and her amber-brown eyes, almost black in the dim light, shine with the feelings that burn inside her. “If I have another daughter this time, I was thinking of naming her Sephine, after you.”
11; mutt; bay tobiano; 15.3hh |
