She can feel the sand underneath her knees, under her palms, the crushed quartz nipping into her skin. The wind brushes her skin, through her hair, teases at the ribbons at her neck and the hem of her skirt, smelling of damp, of salt, of seaweed and fish. For a moment she can only breathe it in, feel it filter through her lungs and taste the tang of salt on her tongue.
She's strongly tempted to laugh -- a sudden, wild note, just because she can. If she were alone, she might have.
But he's there, and she feels his presence at her back almost as though his shadow were tangible. She does her best to push her self upward in the sand -- though her elbows wobble dangerously, threatening to dump her back to where she started. She curls her fingers into the grains, gritting out what willpower she can manage over muscles that haven't existed for thousands of years.
"It's . . . fine. I'm fine.""
Twisting over her shoulder, she seeks him out. Her eyes, too literally, are like moons -- almost shining, silvery white, completely without pupils, reflective like a mirror's surface.
"Thank you . . ." Her voice is soft, hoarse, wondering.
He may be with the Crystal Gems, and so she hesitates a little to say it, but . . . he's done what all of them have not: He's released her. Her own body in her grasp again, all things seem possible -- even dealing with a potential enemy.
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She can feel the sand underneath her knees, under her palms, the crushed quartz nipping into her skin. The wind brushes her skin, through her hair, teases at the ribbons at her neck and the hem of her skirt, smelling of damp, of salt, of seaweed and fish. For a moment she can only breathe it in, feel it filter through her lungs and taste the tang of salt on her tongue.
She's strongly tempted to laugh -- a sudden, wild note, just because she can. If she were alone, she might have.
But he's there, and she feels his presence at her back almost as though his shadow were tangible. She does her best to push her self upward in the sand -- though her elbows wobble dangerously, threatening to dump her back to where she started. She curls her fingers into the grains, gritting out what willpower she can manage over muscles that haven't existed for thousands of years.
"It's . . . fine. I'm fine.""
Twisting over her shoulder, she seeks him out. Her eyes, too literally, are like moons -- almost shining, silvery white, completely without pupils, reflective like a mirror's surface.
"Thank you . . ." Her voice is soft, hoarse, wondering.
He may be with the Crystal Gems, and so she hesitates a little to say it, but . . . he's done what all of them have not: He's released her. Her own body in her grasp again, all things seem possible -- even dealing with a potential enemy.