SECOND DRAFT: Hard Bank Left

28

Krys stepped out of the the vardo, hair lighter than it had been in years. However, much like the airships she piloted the lightness came with a sort of emptiness due mostly to her heart being ripped out and torn to shreds the night before. Her hand went to the large pendant necklace dangling between her breasts, the icy metal burning at her palm.

Everything she wore was from the day Graham had thrown her overboard: black trousers, an oversized white button up blouse tucked in, a thick belt at her waist (though the knives she kept tucked in the bindings were gone), her knee-high boots, the jacket Graham had given her, but especially the necklace. Waterlogged, the hands stayed where they had been when they hit the water, the music no longer played, but the music box pocket watch meant something to her, something that tied her both to her mother and to Graham. Holding it kept her steady, kept her from floating away. She opened it, studying the crack splintering across it's polished glass face. When she hit the water the pendant swung around behind her, strangling her until it hit a rock behind her head, cracking the glass, but saving her skull. She closed it, the metaphor of it too on the nose.

She sat on the stairs of the vardo, wondering where everyone had gone, and not comfortable enough to go looking. The Romani encampment, so different and yet so familiar every time they set up, now looked to her like an alien planet. Everything warm and close and comforting about this place crept in on her, caging her in, keeping her trapped. Fond memories or late nights drinking and singing and laughing and eating crumbled into the taint of being chained down and the taste of the thick paste laced with oregano and mint.

A horse snorted nearby. Krys paused, listened for further sounds. There it was again, that huffing snort. She stood, edged around the vardo to find the source of the sound. On the other side of the Vardo stood a tall brown mare, investigating something on the ground beneath the vardo. It noticed her, erect itself, and approached her with curious caution. Hesitantly, Krys stretched out her hand palm up. The mare sniffed it her soft lips tickling Krys's palm.

She spoke soothingly, stroking the mare's muzzle with her other hand. "Hey there girl.What brings you over here?"

A shadow moved over them, too dark and too sudden to have been brought on by clouds. She looked up, watching the familiar red envelope of the airship that was her home slid by overhead. The mare pressed her nose into Krys's chest, testing her pendant to see if it was edible. Upon determining that it wasn't, the mare move on to rummaging under the folds of Krys' coat.

"Hey! Stop it. I don't have anything for you."

The mare snuffed grumpily, disappointed that it hadn't found even so much as a sugar cube, and moved away from Krys. A part of her wanted to go after the beast, after all, how often did she get the chance to be around anything living and not Graham? Her heart sank at this thought. Was he even Graham anymore? The answer came back without hesitation: yes, of course he was Graham, younger, lost, confused, more detached than he had ever been, but certainly Graham. It would take a long while and a lot of work for them to get back to normal, but he had brought her back her ship; that was something to start with.

Eager did not begin to describe how Krys felt about getting back onto the WindSong, into her room, her pilotry. Contrary to Graham's beliefs, she wanted things to be normal too. Declaring war on the Keypers was only a means to that end. If only he could see that she was trying to keep him safe, keep the both of them safe. She had no intention of abandoning him, or ignoring his needs.

His needs.

Knowing his needs provided a new insight into his psyche, as it always had. The last time he chose to let her in, truly let her in, and show her his needs had been two and a half years ago, only just before the Dustan incident. Graham had scared her. It was the first time she'd ever seen him break down. She'd seen him angry and hurt, but never like that.