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✩°̥࿐୨୧ Moonlight filtered through the gaps in the marui wall, painting everything in sapphire stripes that shifted as the wind breathed. Somewhere beyond the reef, the ilu sang long, echoing calls that stitched the night together.
Tuktirey was a small storm of limbs and laughter in Saraïyah's lap.
"Again, again!" Tuk squealed, feet kicking the air as if the ground itself were optional. Her hands flailed for balance, her braid ends slapping against Saraïyah's arms. "Higher, higher!"
Saraïyah tipped her head back with a groan that was only half theatrical, half a genuine plea for mercy. Her arms flexed anyway, instinctively tightening around the girl's waist so she wouldn't topple. "At this rate," she muttered, eyes crinkling despite herself. "You'll throw my arms into the sea before dinner."
Tuk leaned forward, invading personal space with the ruthless affection of a child who knew exactly how adored she was. Both small hands grabbed the front of Saraïyah's top as if anchoring herself to the promise of flight. "Pleaseeee," she drew the word out until it nearly snapped. "This is the last one."
"You said that three tosses ago." Saraïyah eyed her with mock suspicion.
"And those were practice last ones."
A soft laugh escaped Saraïyah, she shifted her weight, bracing herself. "Alright," she said, voice lowering as if entering into a sacred agreement. "One more toss. And then we breathe, sweet girl."
"Yes!" Tuk clapped once, victorious.
"Eywa help me," Saraïyah exaggerated her effort, slumping back, her bones threatening to give out entirely.
She lifted Tuk smoothly into the air, arms stretching high. Tuk shrieked with delight, laughter ringing sharp and bright, a sound that could make even the tide pause to listen.
"You are so dramatic," Tuk giggled as she was caught again and settled safely back into Saraïyah's lap.
"That," Saraïyah replied, slightly breathless, "is because I am giving you the performance of a lifetime."
It was in that small pocket of noise and softness that Kiri slipped inside the marui.
One brow already lifted like she'd walked in on a well-rehearsed play. Her arms folded loosely over her chest, a knowing smirk settling into place as she took in the scene. Tuk flushed and glowing, Saraïyah pretending not to be winded, the air still buzzing from laughter.
"I'm afraid she won't ever leave you alone," Kiri said matter-of-factly.
"Why would I?" Tuk waved lazily, draping herself more securely into Saraïyah's embrace like a satisfied cat who had claimed its human. "She's mine."
