Miho took the medallion back and refastened it where it belonged. For a long time, it had been the only reminder of who she was. The only thing she had been allowed to keep other than the wood flute that currently sat on her desk in Voraskel Palace.
It had become a morning ritual to play every day before beginning the work of armies and logistics and conflicts.
“For him, I have been lost for decades.” She agreed sadly. “But, for me, it has only been a scant ten years since we lost our home.”
She shrugged slowly, measuring her own words as she spoke. “Both of us carry wounds barely healed and opened anew.”
The evacuation of K'hamar'a had been so violent, so fast, she had assumed no one had survived. That she was alone, not just in the hands of someone who had a fondness for children, but alone in a very personal sense. Having already survived one massacre of her family, she’d lived with another in her mind. It had haunted her nightmares when she frozen in carbon. Time didn’t pass for her physically, but she still dreamed. Dreamed of her family, of happier times, of them being dead and it being her own fault.
If she had just stayed with him that day, perhaps she could have saved him.
“Regrets are useless, sister.” One of those brotherly ghosts told her. “We are warriors bred to fight and die. No more, no less.”
Miho smiled at Socorra, banishing the voice and the sadness from her person as she took the hand that was still held out towards her. “It is my pleasure, Socorra Erinos.”
Socorra’s grip tightened once in response, then released. Not out of discomfort but reverence.
“Ten years,” she echoed, low. “For me, it has been all time and none. My body broke. My mind… split. But I remember everyt'ing. That is my curse.” Her gaze lingered on the clasped medallion. “No peace in forgetting.”
The shadows around her eye deepened with thought, or maybe just exhaustion. She shifted, careful not to disturb the small sleeping form that leaned into her shoulder, one hand bracing him automatically, protective and unthinking.
She tilted her head slightly, considering Miho again.
“You did not save him,” she said softly, “because he lived.”
Not a correction. A fact.
“And if he live, t'en so do you. Here. Now. Not as what was taken, but what endure.”
She paused.
“You should play that flute again tonight.”
Miho smiled and stood, gesturing over to an empty table near one corner. “Perhaps we should move somewhere a little more comfortable than the floor.”
Violet eyes took in the still sheer amounts of glitter covering everything. “It would also be easier for them to clean up without needing to dodge around two people huddled on the floor.”
She held a slender hand out to the other woman and smiled. “Come, maybe I’ll play the flute just for you tonight.”
How long had it been since she had actively played with someone watching? Had she ever done it? She had it with her, nestled safely in the bottom of her bag but the only one who had actually seen it recently had been Muz on their trip to Kasiya.
Her face softened again as she nodded, a smile on her lips as she gestured to Nhar'quis. “Maybe your little beastie will enjoy listening as well?”
.
Weyne slept against her chest, breathing softly, one hand tangled in Socorra’s hair. He’d dozed off minutes ago, warm and unaware, a quiet weight anchoring her in place. She gave a soft grunt and adjusted him higher before she rose, then nodded once to Miho.
“Sah. Floor less comfortable than used to be.”
Nhar'quis on her other shoulder made a krrt sound and jumped down, gliding in between the other three tailrings that had come to her aid, all of them black-winged and lean, eyes bright with the same molten glint. One was completely dusted in shimmer, licking itself. One sprawled dramatically belly-up as if performing for sympathy. Look how pathetic I look! The third, sleeker and younger, gave a sharp cry. You’re not my mother! it seemed to say, then lifted off in a huff, vanishing into the shadows above.
Nhar’quis glanced between the two left, nudging them forward with his snout, and then staring back to her.
Socorra narrowed her eye. “Ohh nonono. Sahsahlah!”
Nhar’quis clicked his teeth and hissed at her, not violently, but with unmistakable command. They all chirped in response, one bold and standoffish, the other hesitant and hopeful.
Socorra stared at the trio, unimpressed.
Nhar’quis trilled defiantly and gave her a look. That same bold stare she’d seen when he first chose her on their homeplanet, like the decision had already been made.
The bold glittery one took a few steps forward, then sat squarely at her feet.
The hesitant, submissive one crept forward, eyes wide and adorable, wings tucked in tight. It chirped once, not in protest, not quite a beg either, and stopped just short of her boot, placing a claw on the toe and looking up.
“Tch.” Her fingers twitched at her side. “We barely have room for Akua as it is.”
Nhar'quis gave a low, almost offended rumble. She suddenly saw a memory in her mind, one not her own. Greasy meat on skewers. One of the dragons. Charred. Eaten. The echo of a tailring’s death cry lingered in her skull.
She blinked, jaw tight. Nhar’quis sat proud and silent, not even looking at her.
“You manipulative little…” she growled. She sighed, a sound older than it should have been, and rested a hand atop the shy one’s small head.
“Fine. But this it. And you are going to train t'em. Now how am I supposed to explain to family?”
Socorra looked at Miho, expression dry. “You see what I deal with?”
A pause, then a faint curl of her mouth.
“He like music, sah. But I warn you, if he start chirping, ot'er two might try to harmonize.”
She started toward the table, carefully. “Nobody want t'at.”
.