[2] WEEPING MONK║you're not what I was looking for

65| When Storms Gather (Part Two) - 𝐈𝐈

[Mentions of blood. Minor injury. Fire. Peril.]

The forest fire rages on.

In the hours after, the storm relented somewhat, though it were closer to dawn than dusk when Ari dragged herself away from her father's bedside towards her own. Carrying a lantern in her hand to ward off the shadows.

She'd insisted earlier that her tent be placed in one of the narrow crags of the valleys with the rest of her people. Within each one that she squeezed by; folk were sleeping. Unaware of what they had almost lost this night.

The scent of smoke lingered in the air, even here.

Scattered white pinpricks of ashes drifted around her and were slowly floating to the ground. With the heaviness of a soaked cloak and clothes, her nose cold and her hair clinging to her equally frozen skin, Ari found her tent— separate from the others. Propped up against the moss-covered wall of the valley. Thick drops of rainwater ran off from the ridge and blotted the waxed covering which kept her cot dry.

The relief that swam in her veins at the thought of laying her head to rest was quickly replaced when the flicker of light from within her tent curled her stomach. She had had enough of fire tonight, and of tents going up in flames. So much blazing heat had dried her eyes, not even her tiredness could compare. But still, she could not banish the image of her father laying beneath the rubble out of her sight.

It would only be a lantern, she told herself. Nothing more. Kaze must have lit it for her before retreating for her own well-deserved rest.

The ties for the drawn-to veils were undone. Her weary fingers pulled back one side and she dipped through, trying to not make a sound and disturb those sleeping around her.

Ari gasped at the figure sitting within her tent.

Lancelot snapped his head up from out of his hands. As if he had been on the edge of sleep, he blinked a few times, breathing as though woken abruptly all the same. The down section of his hair had curled tighter from the rain. Light from the dim lantern atop her wooden trunk enhanced the redness on his nose and around his eyes.

She stood, staring at him. Perhaps she was more tired than she thought, because she didn't quite believe that he was sitting on her cot, hunched forwards over his knees and easing upright as she silently gaped. He knew the kind of trouble that he could stir by being in here so deep into the night. They had their agreement for a reason.

And yet, he was here.

She did not even realise the extent of how much she needed him, and he was here.