#Ramalek

[underfiends]

Watch Me Breathe

Posting an actual story for the first time in months. The muses and I have been engaging in extreme combat and we have finally begun peace talks. Next we will band together to torment my friends with more angst. For now, have a fluff fic of yet another batch of D&D characters. Ramal is mine, Val is @hannrenn, and the DM for these two lovely dumpster fires is @peppermintpinklemonade. Hope y'all enjoy!

There’s a chill in the air; the softest of nips on an otherwise gentle breeze. A cloud shifts, golden light chasing away those cold touches, dappling ashen grey skin with a rare brush of colour. Oranges and reds bloom in the dark of closed eyelids, so much softer than the brilliant burn of flame.

A breath in, lungs filled to burst. A breath out, and with it goes a lingering tension through corded muscle. Fingers of warmth run over dark skin and chase the breeze through even darker hair. A puff of hot air against a pointed ear; a soft tap on one arm, then the other; an echo of laughter meant only for one person, only for them, just here in this moment of calm.

When their eyes open, there is only red. A red mirrored by the petals of scarlet catchfly scattered about, bundles of leaves and flowers growing on cracked boulders at the base of a rocky cliff. The hot breath and warm fingers turn into the press of hands on their shoulders, a constant companion showing that she is still here.

The wind picks up, whistling through the trees that have grown and thrived in this deep ravine between two mountains. The cold is more apparent now, raising goosebumps on their arms. They could don their leather armour, cover up to trap the heat against their skin, but it is peaceful here. The presence of an armoured warrior is not needed among the vibrant greens and browns of maple trees and buckthorn. There is no danger beneath the strangling vines twisting over wet earth.

Red eyes drift back to red petals. There is one patch of flowers close enough to touch, close enough to see the sticky hairs all up the stem. A memory floats to the surface, of a roughened voice one hot summer day.

“See those hairs, kid? They’ll sting you if you touch them, and your hand will hurt for days.” They remember Magnus had been crouched down next to a shallow riverbed, the heels of his boots dug firmly into the rocky ground as he pointed out the vibrant red flowers. Then, as if summoned through sheer outrage, a hand had smacked him upside the head.

“You idiot! That’s stinging nettle. They’re completely different, how could you have fucked that up?” Rhetta glared down at the man now rubbing his head, hands posted sharply upon her hips. Suddenly, like the flip of a switch, she looked over at them with soft eyes and a kind smile. She folded herself to hover at their height with her eyes trained on the flower. “This is a fire pink, Ramalek. Also known as a scarlet catchfly. Don’t worry, it’s safe to touch, however the stem is a bit sticky. That’s why people call it ‘catchfly’, because it catches flies on its stem and leaves to protect its nectar.” She reached out to brush against a petal, pulling it back just enough for them to see the sheen of liquid hidden in the flower. Then Magnus had said something–the words lost to time–that had left her sputtering indignantly, and the two bickered all the way back to Magnus’s tavern.

That had been years ago, back before they’d taken their new names by the blood of the slain. Before a ghost from their past had resurfaced, had turned out to be alive. Just the thought has them feeling winded and wrong-footed; as though the world is going to slip from underneath them and they’ll wake up to find it was all a dream. Panic begins to swirl just below their skin, prickling their mind. Their fingers twitch, and then a warm hand intertwines with their own, and heat presses all up their side.

A breath in, until lungs are fit to burst. A breath out, and with it the wave of panic settles.

They know where their travel companion is; the one who is a miracle. When they return, red eyes will fight off a swell of tears. The creature of dark grey skin and black hair will don their leather armour and settle back into the role of a savage beast. But for now, Valentine is off in the distance, crouched beside a small pool of algae-choked water, touching the surface every minute or so to watch the tiny tadpoles scurry away. Ramalavikfeng can stay where they are, and their armour can stay on the ground beside them.

There is no place for anything other than peace and calm here, among the green and brown and red. At the base of a cliff, backed by a forest growing in the ravine between two mountains, looking at a brilliant red flower that is close enough to touch with a sticky stem and leaves. Here, where the wind has eased back down to a gentle breeze.

There is a nip in the air. Summer is fading, and autumn is on its way. Perhaps Valentine would be willing to visit Magnus and Rhetta.