static / andromache & flo, day 4 leisure

the silence between myself and andromache as we walk scares me. 

it's not because it is hostile, or because any threat lingers there. it's quite the opposite feeling - the silence is companionable, it is trusting. she moves slowly for the sake o

f my injuries, dragging her feet through the dirt to avoid my shame. we do not speak because we don't need to; we continue our search for eulalie in solidarity, as two parts of a team who just fought side by side, a united front against a hoard of dragons, and came away to tell the tale. 

this sits uncomfortably in my chest, courses painfully through my blood, because andromache is the enemy. despite this, i find myself handing over bandages from my pack, checking that she has not been hurt in the brawl. there is a hard knot in my throat, and i think it is the dichotomy of wanting her dead. 

flo, she says, having not let go of the shortening that she found in desperation amongst the waves. it sounds easy and sweet on her lips now, no longer makes my body clench up. i found these back in the pond, on the first day. she offers me a small, smooth pebble. i look at her with bemusement. an hour ago she was battling like a fierce warrior, now she is handing over trinkets like an affectionate baby penguin. 

stay there, she says, and steps back. i wonder for the briefest moment if the stone is perhaps explosive, and she is taking this chance to blow my limbs from my body. instead she ducks out of site between the trees and speaks: flo? can you hear me? she says, and rather than the quiet rumble of a far-away voice, the trill of her words sounds from the stone in my hand. i blink at it, then grin. 

if only eulalie had the matching pair of these. then we wouldn't be stumbling around searching for her. i push away the other, competing thought. if only- if only august had one of these, and i could tell him i'm sorry. i'd whisper it into the stupid time three hundred times over, i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry, as long as nobody was listening. 

i cannot let myself think about him.

instead i laugh, speak to my stone: i can hear you. i hesitate, compelled by an urge that i cannot identify the source of. over, i add, quickly, because it seems correct. 

despite the stones, i am nervous to be out of andromache's line of sight for too long. we have learned a little in the last few days about losing people. today, too, was a shower of cannon-fire, punctuating the afternoon until the day blurred into sunset. 

i ask the question we're both thinking. do you think eulalie is still out there?

it has further implications, of course: do we keep looking for her? 

_[DARS]