Private Tales In the Vicinity of Thunder

[Cullen]

Oh, those sounds she made. If she truly wanted him to stop, she was going the wrong way about it.

“Certainly doesn’t sound… like you want me to stop…” he rumbled against her skin, teeth grazing before he bit gently at her neck and tugged, chasing the sting away with the slow drag of his tongue.

His hands roamed greedily, daring further than they ever had with her, mapping every inch as if to commit her to memory. His mouth followed, leaving trails of heat down her chest, over her ribs, lower still until his lips brushed her stomach.

He looked up at her, a boyish dimple deepening in his cheek with the crooked smirk he gave. A silent question, asking her permission..

 

[Nadya]

Gods no, she didn't want him to stop.

She had waited too long for this, and even put off their well needed reunion because of duty to the Thunder. Fuck, they could not even do as much as this before they flew out for this hunt.

"Don't stop." She breathed. The mark branded over his brow held a sinister image as he smirked up at her. Not to harm her, no, he would never do that if she had not consented to it. His expression was a promise that he would make her ravenous for more. A high she would want to chase forever. Nadya knew she was too weak to ever deny him, to not allow herself to indulge in him finally.

"I want this, I want you." Nadya breathed, her brows furrowing with the frustration that he even had to pause before going ahead.

 

[Cullen]

Cullen’s smirk deepened at her words, “..that’s all I needed to hear,” he murmured, voice husky with want. Still, he lingered a heartbeat longer, his hands sliding slow, teasing her with restraint he didn’t truly feel. He wanted to take his time.

Then he gave her no more time for doubts or second thoughts. He carried on, and the rest was lost to the forest floor, to breathless sounds and the heat of her.

When she was breathless and flushed, he pulled himself back up over her, his mouth finding hers again in a kiss both hungry and tender. He kissed her like he’d never stop, until a interruption split the air, cutting through the haze.

“Nadya?”

The familiar voice rang out through the trees, searching, drawing closer.

Cullen froze, lips still brushing hers, his body taut with the irritation of being dragged back into the world. His brow furrowed, recognising exactly who it belonged to.

 

[Stasya]

It was better to call out in advance, for Stasya knew her older sister well and the warning she got after arriving at their camp, she knew if her sister was not in a good mood, her own sudden appearance might not be the best surprise for the Wing Leader.

Stasya Caliar had always looked up to Nadya, had wanted to be as fierce as her, but she did not inherit the grit and strength like her sister. She bore the beauty, the softness of a lady, and the kindness of someone raised to be Lady Caliar and sit on the High seat of her family. No longer did she wish to be a gentle soul, spending her days embroidering or reading, or any other ladylike activity. In fact, it had been Cullen that helped introduce her to Faye Valimir, who was not only a highly skilled Artisan, but one of the most experienced healers.

Her own anxiety of nearing a dragon she did not know meant she was not fit to heal them, but the human connection was Stasya's forte. She liked to work with children, to help relieve them of their illness or their aches.

She should be in Thanasis, that much she gathered when one of the squad members from Nadya's wing decided not to let her out of his sight. He was a tall man, blond, and entirely the type of rugged and charming that made her nervous, but despite the flirtations he gave her to help ease her, Stasya admired the fact he was a soldier through and through.

Cullen would have my head if I said anything worse than that, and the Wing Leader would ensure that no one could find my body should they find out I flirted with you. He grinned as he made sure she was strapped into his saddle and slid in behind her.

But Stasya was used to flirting. Had brushed it off as if that was simply him being himself. He was there to protect her, he assured.

And when Stasya ventured further past the trees, she saw her sister laying on the ground. Concern flooded through Stasya, but then she saw her sister fastening the laces to her trousers. Saw how Cullen's hair was mussed wildly.

"Ahh..." Mischief crooked at her lips. Her eyes, more blue and sky than her sister storm and grey, delighted at the scene she clearly interrupted. "Out here in the open? In nature? Goodness gracious, Nadezdha!"

"Not the first time I fucked in a forest, little Stas." Her sister chimed, rolling to sit up and stare at her. "Why are you here? It's dangerous to fly out in a storm!"

"Not for a Caliar." Stasya affirmed. It was true, that wild made storms never loosed their bolts of lightning in the direction of a Caliar.

 

[Cullen]

Cullen had been fumbling, scrambling for words the moment he heard Stasya’s voice cutting through the trees. “Not what it look li—” he started, sitting up quickly and dragging a hand over his face as though that would erase the evidence written all over him.

But then Nadya’s voice cut in, shameless as ever. Not the first time I fucked in a forest, little Stas..

Cullen’s head snapped toward her, dark eyes narrowing in sharp glare. “Hey,” he cut in, his tone tight, jealous heat in it that he couldn’t quite disguise. First, the thought of her with anyone else twisted in his chest. Second, Stasya was still practically a child in his eyes, someone he’d sworn to protect, and Nadya tossing words like that around was the last thing she needed to hear.

He pushed to his feet with a rough sigh, clearing his throat as if that would settle the flush still in his face. His hand dragged awkwardly to the back of his neck, rubbing there as though he could smooth away the tension. Then, softer, more instinct than thought, he reached his hand down to Nadya, helping her up with a gentleness that betrayed everything he was trying to mask. His tongue rolled over his lips without him realising it, a tell more damning than he’d have liked, as his eyes flicked between the two sisters.

 

[Nadya]

As much as she wanted to roll her eyes at the jealousy in his tone, Nadya quite liked the expression her wore. Perhaps she was still feeling the pleasurable high of him putting his tongue to use, but she seemed to stare at him too long before Stasya cleared her throat.

Loudly.

"Please, Stas. Before he gets grumpy that my grievances with him never reached itself conclusion."

"A medic always flies out with a squad. I came to assist with Faye... I wanted to see you..." Her eyes, the blue skies of a sun shining day, told Nadya why sje had come.

Nadya sighed, nodded. "I am fine, saevi." The Old Thanasian term for loved one.

Stasya smiled, flicked her gaze to Cullen also. "Thank you. I thank the gods she always has you." And with a small wave, the other Caliar sister turned back to return to camp. Nadya stared after her. A small frown threatened the furrow between her brows to deepen.

"I think... I truly broke her heart when I left for all those months. I didn't write back to home... I..." Nadya let the silence speak for her. Took a moment to sit in it before exhaling and turning to stare at Cullen. "I would suggest we continue where you left off, but I cannot fathom that Stasya is just over there..."

In other words, the moment had fizzled.

 

[Cullen]

Cullen’s arms folded tight across his chest, his dark eyes tracking Stasya’s retreating form through the trees. The muscle in his jaw ticked, and he huffed, the sound edged in irritation. A shoulder rose and fell in a heavy shrug as he looked back at Nadya.

“Might as well have thrown a bucket of ice water over my c—” he cut himself off with a rough clear of his throat, his gaze skittering away from hers as he clamped down on the rest of that thought.

He was still burning, not just from being interrupted but from the way her words had dug under his skin, filling his head with images of her and other men right after she'd only just been moaning his name, and when he wanted only to be the one she thought of. His jaw ached from the tension, his lips pressing into a hard line.

“Let’s go,” he muttered, turning on his heel and stalking a few paces ahead.. “And she’ll be fine. She’s a Caliar, right?” he clipped.

 

[Nadya]

Nadya raised a brow at him. Watched him staft to leave, but that pull for him and only him had her opening her mouth to keep him there. "She's not me."

None of her sisters had to sacrifice anything, got to live a life of prospects because Nadya fought for the importance of the dying minor House and their connection to an old bloodline of dragons. There were tough days, days where she couldn't admit truly what she wanted in fear of losing it.

Distractions and loose ends. Convinced she was never good enough for him. She had always been brash talking about lovers, but she knew thingshad changed now.

She approached him, still half dressed and her trousers unlaced. Wrapped her arms around him from behind. "I am who I am because of you. My anchor. My fighter. My friend and my love. I'm always going to need you, Cullen." And how good it felt to say all these truths, ones she had hidden for so long because she had been sure he was never interested in her.

"I am yours. I will swear any and all the oaths to make it so... but this one I swear now. I promise myself, sword and heart, to you Cullen of House Morvane." The pledge of loyalty. Not a Wing Leader to a Soldier. Not empty words. Nadya made him turn, cupped a hand to his cheek so that he could see her peer up at him with the fires of passion. "I am yours."

 

[Cullen]

Yes, he was brooding. He always brooded. He didn’t get to keep much in this life; everything he allowed himself to grow comfortable with, everything he cared for, had a way of being wrenched from his hands. The thought of another man touching her -ever- had his blood running hotter, darker, a low fire sitting behind his ribs.

He almost kept walking. Almost let himself drown in that familiar bitterness. But then her arms wrapped around him, and the warmth of her pressed to his back. Her voice, soft but fierce, bled into him like water into cracked stone. With each word she spoke, that rigid tension bled out of his shoulders. The sigh that tumbled from his chest was rough, but it was surrender, too.

He turned slowly, looking down at her, the hardness in his gaze softening even as his brow stayed furrowed. The sight of her still dishevelled like this, pledging herself to him, struck him hard. His hand lifted, clasping the back of her neck, a gentle hold but firm enough that she felt it, that she knew he meant every word he was about to say.

“Just as I promise myself, my sword and my heart to you and only you, Nadya of House Caliar." he rumbled. His thumb brushed against the line of her jaw, the corner of his mouth twitching as his jaw clenched and unclenched. “Whom I will gladly ensure has any other man erased from her mind the next time I have my privacy with her.”

His eyes stayed locked to hers as he said it, a dark vow edged with hunger but bound with something far deeper, something he had never dared say aloud until now. He kissed her then, a possessive, claiming thing that promised so much more.

 

[Nadya]

Her eyes delighted with a wickedness hearing him vow to make her forgot about anyone else. It was what she wanted, for all this time to have him, and she would gladly let him mold her to him.

Usually anyone that was possessive would initiate her to fight back, to be the one in control and running things. Possessive never had been attractive, but on Cullen, it was a colour she liked to see.

She met his lips with a fever, her arms moving to roam about his arms, his shoulders, down his chest and wrapping around his waist. Nadya wanted to be greedy and selfish, to let him make good on his promise now. "Fuck." She hissed, not wishing to pull away, but she had to in order to gain some sense to her thoughts. "Gods, I really want you to take me deeper into this forest..."

And then the thunder rumbled, filling Nadya with a power she always felt when a storm was hurrying along.

Her eyes met his. Storm or no storm, she wanted him now.

 

[Stasya]

"That should do for now... we should let him rest." Faye finished stitching the wound, and Stasya approached with warm, damp cloths. She smiled as the medic offered her the seat she had been in, a smile returned as Faye sighed and went to put away her tools back into her hit. "This storm is going to be relentless. Are you sure you want to stay here?"

Stasya gently wiped away at the blood that stained the bare chest of the man. He looked young, perhaps around her age, and possessed a kind face even if he was not awake to this world. "I am giving Nadya and Cullen some alone time." The grin on her face was hard to fight off, to stifle, but it grew wider as she caught Faye smirking too. "And I think it is best he wakes up not alone in a storm. Perhaps I will read my book aloud to him."

"Alright. Come find me if he wakes or you need me. I will let your sister and Cullen know where to find you once they return back to camp."

Stasya nodded, and turned back to her patient. He had bled, and a lot of it, but Faye and her dragon, who now slept slumped against one side of the medic tent, had done their magic. The blind white dragon had a unique gift for giving healing, and kept the wounded man alive as Faye went about fixing him with potions and salves.

She did not mind seeing all the gore and blood, not when she knew she was learning how to tend to it all. Cleaning his blood, she was careful and patient. "This is going to take some time to recover from, my friend. A dragon's bite... by the size of the wounds, it is lucky they got you with only a few of their teeth."

Talking was easy, especially when alone in the quiet. She learned that hearing a voice could bring comfort, that perhaps they were awake but unable to truly awaken. Stasya would give him that leading light to follow once he was ready. After she finished cleaning him up, she worked on wrapping his torso. He was heavier, a bit of muscle on him, but Stasya was growing stronger too and completed her task with patience. After that, she draped a warm blanket over him to keep him warm.

There was no cot or bed, just whatever blankets found in the dragon saddle bags. Stasya stayed in her seat and read two chapters of her book before sinking to the ground and sitting with her legs crossed.

"... the great dragons of sun and moon often chased one another, as it was believed the sun dragon would roam the skies until the moon dragon came to fight them from the sky and make it their domain. They would trade the skies each night, with sun growing strength in the summer months and the moon holding supremacy in the winter months."

 

[Mylo]

The storm outside was only a dull percussion in his ears, a heartbeat of thunder and rain far, far away. In the dark drift of his mind, shapes moved - two vast dragons of gold and silver, one burning like a small sun, the other glimmering like frost on midnight water. They spiralled and twined, chasing and fleeing, their roars rolling like the storm’s growl above him.

And through it all, a voice. Soft. Steady. Reading... The words themselves were a muffle in his mind, but the cadence was there. A thread, a lifeline pulling him upward.

Mylo’s body felt impossibly heavy, as if the dragon’s teeth still had hold of him, dragging him down. But the voice kept calling, weaving in and out of the dream until the light broke through his eyelids. His lashes fluttered. A hiss of breath trembled from his lungs.

He forced his hazel eyes open. At first, only a glow; a halo of soft, shifting light. Then, slowly, she came into focus, a young woman sitting beside him, a book loose in her lap, her hair catching the lantern’s glow.

Gods. She was beautiful. Surely no mortal sight could look like that after pain and darkness. Surely he was gone, crossed over, welcomed into the afterlife by the most ethereal of creatures.

He stared, wordless for a long heartbeat, the quiet between them heavy as the blankets on his chest. His throat worked, a dry swallow. His lips parted, the sound that came out more breath than voice.

“…Are you an angel?” he whispered.

 

[Stasya]

Stasya set aside the book, forgetting to mark her page. It did not matter, for the man had woken up. The moment she heard him stir, Stasya was kneeling at his side and ensuring he was alright and covered by the blanket. She smiled when he spoke, groggy and quiet.

"If you'd like to believe it so." Came soft laughter closely behind. "I am Stasya. One of the medics that tended to you. You suffered a lot, but we helped you as best we could."

She had heard from the other riders that this man was with his family stealing the egg. That his own father's dragon tried to be rid of him. Another reason she was not up for the task of dragon rider, Stasya had no stomach for being so close to other dragons. They were menacing in stature.

Her hand brushed at his hair, smoothing it away from his forehead. "I am sorry for your loss. If you... wish to talk about it, I can listen... but it is best you remain here and rest." If he started to get up, she was sure pressing him back down would be difficult but Stasya had always learned to put up a fight. Where Nadya had strength, Stasya had stubbornness in equal measure.

"Would you like some tea? I can go fetch some..." Her hand smoothing his hair began to retreat.

 

[Mylo]

“An angel, then…” Mylo murmured, eyes half-lidded as though the simple effort of looking at her cost him. He let out a slow, unsteady sigh, as if he might drift back under any second. “Makes sense...” he murmured..

Her fingers moved through his hair, and to his own surprise a quiet sound escaped him, not quite a groan of pain, but something softer, involuntary, as though that small touch had reached deeper than her healing.

Then her words sank in. His loss.

His brow creased. Memory clawed back in jagged fragments; the dragon’s roar, the snap of teeth, the impact of the fall, the smell of scorched flesh. His father’s body. His brothers’ faces twisted with rage. It rolled over him like a sickness and his stomach turned, his skin going ashen.

“I don’t…” his voice cracked. He swallowed hard, shutting his eyes for a heartbeat as if he could push it all back down into darkness. “…I don’t want to talk about it.” Not yet. Not when speaking would make it real.

He felt her hand retreating, and without thinking he reached for it, his fingers trembling with the effort. His grip was weak, but the plea behind it wasn’t.

“No… stay?” His hazel eyes flickered up to hers, raw and earnest, the faintest ghost of a smile. “Please.”

"…You were reading to me?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

 

[Stasya]

Her hand instantly wrapped around his own, a hand that caught her from leaving. Stasya's face fell into something sad, thinking that his troubles of his loss made him not wish to be alone.

"Yes, I was. It is a children's book, perhaps you read it growing up like I had. Wings and Tales." She could not help but smile. "I remember the tales well, and my favourite being of the storm dragon." Her smile twitched, unsure if the mere mention would be troubling for him.

His family made him steal a storm dragon egg after all.

"If you would like me to continue reading, I would need my hand back." She said politely, giving his hand another squeeze to instill confidence in him. Stasya would not leave this tent. "But if you need anything, tea or food, perhaps another blanket, please tell me. My name is Staysa, by the way. And yours?"

 

[Mylo]

Gods, her voice. It ran like warm water over the jagged edges inside him, and her face… Saints, he couldn’t stop staring at her. He knew he was still half out of his head, that for all he knew she might be some hideous old hag and his mind was simply playing a trick on him, but if this was a trick, then let it be. If she were the last person he saw before he died, he’d go to the other side feeling blessed.

His brow furrowed faintly when she spoke of reading, lips twitching as he tried to huff out a laugh. “Books and reading are for the high born and maesters, Milady…” he rasped, the words dry but touched with a ghost of humour. “And I certainly ain’t that…”

Then she mentioned the storm dragons. His stomach knotted tight. But then her hand squeezed his and that small, human touch anchored him again. “Well…” his voice dropped to a whisper, the only strength he could muster, “…now I’m not all that sure whether I want you to read to me or not…”

A faint dimple curved at his cheek despite himself. Hells, this was already breaking ten different rules, but he was nearing the end of his short time on these planes, so what was the harm in being bold now? “Stassyaa…” he tried her name on his tongue, slow and deliberate, and he liked the way it felt, the way it tasted.

"An angel's name if ever there was one.." His gaze softened as he watched her, and then, reluctantly, he released her hand, afraid that his shame might somehow pass into her skin if he held on too long.

“I’m sorry…” he swallowed.. “About the egg. Is it… is it alright?” His hazel eyes flicked up to hers. “I know it makes no difference now. I know the laws.” His mouth trembled at the corner. “But I… I didn’t want to be part of any of it. I swear it.”

"They'll execute me for this, but I think, that's alright if I know at least one person believes me.." he frowned.

 

[Stasya]

Stasya pulled the book back into her lap, opening to a page she knew just about where the new tale started. "The egg is alright. I have not met this new dragon my sister brought home... Esdyr left Thanasis more than a century ago or about that time. It is safe again, and so are you."

Her hand returned to his, her thumb now smoothing the back of his knuckles.

"My name is Anastasia, but every one calls me Stasya for short. Same as all my sisters, we have shortened names." She wanted to give him a distraction, unsure if she had the right to pass judgement of him, or even to hear his story. It made her nervous, but not enough to find Nadya or Cullen to tell them of her worries. "They are the names of the last daughters of the Calaerys House before they died out, and the Caliar bloodline now lives from the branch that belonged to Nadezhda Calaerys. There is a tale in here about the first Anastasia..."

But the words... his words of fear and worry about dying.

"My sister is a good woman. She does not stand for injustice. It was Cullen that saved you, was it not? The rider with the gold dragon? He is a Marked One, and my sister has loved him for many years. She will remember what you did, trying to return the egg and surrender. Your father's dragon bit you to cut you loose as if you were dead weight... I can tell you that you are most certainly not that."

Stasya's calming thumb paused.

"Will you... tell me more? If you wish to get it off your chest, then allow me to lend you a listening ear."

 

[Mylo]

He let out a slow, shaky sigh at her first words, lids fluttering as though the tension bled out of him all at once. The egg was safe. That was what mattered. His lips twitched, something like a nod, a ghost of relief, and then his hazel eyes lifted to hers.

Gods… her eyes. So blue, with glimmers of gold, like the golden hour sun dancing on the crests of tiny waves. Hypnotic, really. The most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen. And this girl, with those eyes, was comforting him, her thumb on his hand, her voice a low, steady lull that told him maybe, just maybe, his penalty wouldn’t be as brutal as he’d feared. She spoke kindness into him and it felt alien, like a language he’d never learned.

She asked for more, and his throat constricted until he almost couldn’t breathe. Finally, he swallowed hard. “My father did that…” he rasped. “Not his dragon.”

The words trembled on the air between them. “The beast may have thrown me, but it wouldn’t have done it without his order…”

He tried to laugh, but it caught and cracked like glass. “There’s little left to say. I won’t waste time finding excuses. I couldn’t stand up to him.” His gaze fell, the first time he’d looked away from her face since waking. His fingers curled slightly under hers, not pulling away but retreating inward. “That makes me just as guilty. Worse… it makes everything they said, right. It makes me a coward.”

Colour rose to his pale cheeks, shame prickling under his skin. His pulse thudded sharp with anger at his father, at his brothers, at himself.

“It is my fault,” he whispered, jaw tightening. “All of it.”

 

[Stasya]

The book, forgotten in her lap, closed as she moved to kneel at his side. She slide it to the side, her face looming over his. "How is this your fault?" She asked, her voice holding back urgency. He did not need that, the pressure to hear her tell him it was all going to work out. That he was safe and here and alive.

What he needed was to talk. For her to listen.

"It is no fault to be soft." Stasya told him, and perhaps this one she wanted him to hear. "I am not like my sister." Her sister, unafraid to fight for her loved ones, but Stasya was too reserved and shy to even approach any suitor at a ball.

Stasya held his hand in both of her own. Looked down at them, watching her thumbs smooth the skin from his knuckles to just shy of his wrist. "A coward means we have the knowledge of when something is not right. Our intuition tells us this, and we are smart to listen to it. You were told you were a coward by men that thought themselves brave... but I see the true brave one here. He speaks to me with love for his family, even if he never quite fit in with them."

It was bold, but Stasya wanted him to feel the truth. Carefully, she lifted his hand. Her head leaned down until her lips pressed at his knuckles.

"What is your name?" Stasya murmured softly, as if she were talking a songbird, coaxing it to sing. "You have not told me yet."

 

[Mylo]

He didn’t interrupt her. Didn’t argue. Just… listened. Every word she spoke folded itself into the aching corners of his chest, patching holes he hadn’t realised were bleeding out. He watched the way her lashes feathered against her cheeks each time she blinked, the way her lips shaped soft truths he’d never heard before. His gaze dropped to her thumbs smoothing over his knuckles, again and again, and the skin there tingled with the rhythm.

“I’m not… soft…” he murmured, voice rough, half defensive, half unsure. His brothers had called him that his whole life, a sneer to cut him down. But from her… it hadn’t sounded cruel. Not a scolding, not an insult. A truth she spoke with warmth.

Then her lips pressed to his knuckles. So soft, so gentle.. Gods, his chest ached, his heart splintering wide open under the weight of it. He stared at her, silence wrapping around them, too heavy, too long, until he remembered she’d asked him something.

“Huh? Oh…” A weak laugh escaped, but it jarred his ribs and pain flashed across his features. He winced, swallowing against it, before forcing through with a crooked smile. “Mylo… My name is Mylo.”

 

[Stasya]

"Mylo." The way her mouth formed over his name naturally made her smile. She liked it, kept it, and peered down at him. "I like that."

It suited him. As if that were the last piece to her puzzle of him. Stasya gave him a warm smile, something as soft as the moment between them. "You should rest some more. I will stay here, read to you if that helps you to sleep. Do you have a favourite dragon or drake? I can read one of their folk tales to you as you sleep."

One hand let go of his own, pulling the book back onto her lap. Stasya kept one hand on his, soothed him with gentle brushes of her thumb like she had been doing.

"They are quite small, but I adore the petal drakes. Seeing them every spring makes me excited for the warmer months. You see them a lot in the country, where my family holds their primary residence."

 

[Mylo]

He’d never liked the sound of his name before. Not the way his brothers barked it, not the way his father spat it. But from her lips? Gods, it was a balm. The way she said it made his chest ache in a way that felt almost good, like sunlight on a wound that had been hidden too long. Her smile… radiant. Pure. It held him there, somewhere between pain and peace.

“Rest?..” he rasped, a hint of a laugh in his voice, though it cracked in his throat. “And miss you reading stories to me?” His hazel eyes flickered up at her, heavy-lidded but stubborn, trying to drink her in while he could. And miss looking at you? he thought, but he didn’t say it out loud. His lips just curved faintly instead.

Her words about petal drakes stirred a small smile, softer than the rest. He let his eyes fall closed for a heartbeat, imagining a manor in the country, delicate little dragons flitting like blossoms in the breeze. “Petal drakes…” he murmured.

“I've never seen my favourite dragon.. I'm not even sure it exists. Raffa told stories about the ones they said looked like the aurora lights, that roamed the skies so high, their wings caught the sun and turned it into ribbons of colour across the heavens.”

His lips curved, slow and wistful, a little boy’s dream surfacing in the man’s broken body. “Said they only came when the world was quiet enough to notice them… and when they passed over, they left the sky painted in their wake..”

"But I think its just a story."

 

[Stasya]

Stasya chuckled as he spoke of auroras and a quiet world. She liked how calming he was, even when he was not conscious he had the same energy. And so Stasya watched him, stared in the moments she was able to without feeling as if she were doing is for so long. "If Storm Dragons exist, then this Aurora Dragon should too. There is always a balance, no? We have Sun and Moon dragons... white and black dragons. There exists dragons of inbetween..."

Stasya turned her attention to the book, flipping towards a story she knew well. A bondless rider, seeking an adventure to meet many dragons as he could. "Perhaps you and I can go on an adventure to find one. After this storm is done, when the world quietens again..."

Her eyes lifted to his. His hand was warm beneath her own, and Stasya found she did not want to let go of it. "This story I am about to read is about Aaren and his quest to find a bond with a dragon. In the days when barters were still made. Ready?"

 

[Mylo]

His lips curved faintly, the weariness pulling at his face but not enough to keep him from smiling at her reasoning. She made everything sound gentler, easier to believe in.

But then she said we, and the words hit him like a blow to the chest. Him and her, an adventure together… For a moment he wondered if he’d died already, if this wasn’t some kind of dream stitched together by a merciful god. His throat ached as he tried to swallow, and he looked at her like she was made of starlight.

“I… don’t think I’ve met anyone quite so kind as you before, Anastasia,” he whispered, her full name reverent on his tongue. The sadness lingered in his eyes though, because he knew better than to believe in such happy things, not for people like him, not with someone like her.

Her question tugged him back, and he let out a sigh that was half surrender, half comfort. “Ready…” he murmured, his fingers shifting so that his other hand could rest over hers. As long as she didn't let go...

 

[Stasya]

Stasya could not look at him for long, for she feared she would simply stare into his eyes and find every patch of colour in them. Even when he used her name, soft flushes of pink bloomed at her cheeks, and suddenly she could not meet his gaze. It was the sort of flattery that could be felt in words, a stronger evocation than merely calling her beautiful straight away like many did whenever she attended events.

Instead, her hand relaxed in his hold.

Stasya found the start to the story she wished to read, and in a clear and even volume, began to read aloud. Even as the thunder boomed and rumbled above, Stasya kept her voice steady. She was no longer afraid of storms. Nadya had been sure to make her appreciate it's beauty. And Stasya had passed that down to her younger sisters.

Reading to Mylo felt as if she were a younger version again, brave because her older sister had to be in order to teach the other Caliar sisters. Stasya paused after finisbing the tale, looking up to see if he had fallen asleep or not.

"Shall I keep going?" She whispered, seeing if he would stir.