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promises, promises

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Zuala has never left the moors, has never been anywhere but with the tribe, but Yasha has, fierce Yasha with the odd eyes and the soft smile, Yasha the wanderer. And they are training together, so in the break, Zuala asks, what she remembers about the world beyond. 

Yasha tells her of things she has seen, in passing. Of rocky mountains beneath her feet instead of in the distance, of trees in greens instead of ever orange red. Of firm ground instead of swamp, of desert sands and grassy plains. Of flowers. 

How do you describe a flower, to someone who has never seen it? Yasha tries, and she stumbles, and her voice sounds so sweet. 

“I guess you’ll have to show me, one day,” Zuala says, and leans in. 

They seal the promise with a kiss.