Even In The Grave, All Is Not Lost

Past Waters

A/N: just a short chapter today folks, sorry.

. . .

"He who does not know his way to the sea should take a river for his guide."

- Blaise Pascal

. . .

They rested far longer than Raven normally would have allowed - at least, for herself - but she'd had no desire to propel them back onto their course, not now that she was finally noticing how pale Luna's face was. She hadn't been like that when they first got to the island, Raven was almost certain of it. Though, she could admit that, in the beginning, she hadn't really been all that interested in taking stock of Luna's physical appearance.

But she was noticing now.

And she didn't like what she was seeing.

Mostly because there wasn't really all that much to see. Apart from the slight paleness and more obvious bruising under Luna's eyes - it would be no surprise to Raven if sleep was still hard to come by after everything - there was little to take note of.

She looked fine.

Tired maybe, but fine.

Except she wasn't.

And it unnerved Raven that she couldn't see it.

What if Luna got worse and she couldn't see that either?

What if she missed it?

No, she was more than happy to spend half an hour or so lazing by some supportive trees.

And Raven supposed she could admit that she'd kind of needed the rest too.

But only kind of.

She could tolerate worse.

Had tolerated worse.

A little walk wasn't going to do her in. Raven wouldn't let it.

Her brow furrowed as she remembered Luna's words, absentmindedly tracing the thin band around her wrist.

She wondered how the other woman could be so open about her body's weakness. The confession had flowed from her easily - as easily as anything else - and there'd been no shame in her eyes, no defensiveness, not even a trace of self-consciousness. She'd just. . . said it.

Raven couldn't understand it.

Didn't think she'd ever understand it.

But she was starting to get used to that when it came to Luna.

Less easy to get used to was the empathy and compassion the other woman gave out so freely. To her. To Murphy. To anyone.

She'd stated that she didn't mind Raven's defensiveness, had even insinuated that it could be justified. No-one had ever said that to her before. Everyone was always trying to break down her walls, to open her up and fiddle around inside - and growing increasingly frustrated when they couldn't.

(number one reason things had gone sideways with Wick)

No-one seemed to get that Raven couldn't knock down those walls, she could barely even lower them. They were automatic and, even when she tried, she was incapable of finding a mullet strong enough to demolish them.

But she rarely tried.

Because Raven didn't want to demolish them. She needed them. Needed them as much as she needed food or water - more than, really, or so it seemed most days. Needed those walls if she was to stand any chance of getting them all through this, of saving her people. Saving everyone.