He could see her now; her skin was shining in the sun from the sweat that covered her from her workout in the forest, a small collection on her upper lip and trailing from her temples. Her hair was up in a messy bun and falling in her face, her delicately curved ears catching some behind her head. He loved how she didn't care what she looked like when she was practicing, her arms were always strong with whatever weapon she was holding; her legs lithe, moving smoothly from one spot to another as she dodged her invisible target. A crease would form between her eyes, and he swore that her ears wriggled, as hard as she was concentrating. He could never summon the nerve to approach her, to break that intense focus, to become her sparring partner, watching as her face shown in the sun and her muscles moved with the power and ease of the warrior she was. He would imagine that he made her laugh, in one of those rare moments that she threw he head back, held her stomach and scrunched her eyes up tight. He didn't care if she was laughing because of something stupid that he had done, all he cared about was that he was the cause. He hated when one of the other male elves said something to her that made her chuckle, he would begin to think of his own ways to make her laugh, often consuming large portions of his day.
Remembering the day he had gotten to hold her, to feel her strong back against his hands, he felt guilty and immediately mournful, for that had been the day that Oromis and Glaedr were killed. But oh, her hair had smelled good, like the sun and the dirt and the nit and grit of battle, and he felt time had stood still while wrapped in her arms. He never tired of hearing her name, Arya, Arya, slipping through his mind like quicksilver. It flowed and it jumped, it dripped and slithered, and it slid in when he wasn't even expecting it. He had lost a part of himself when his mentor had died, and he never knew if he would ever have a relationship like that again. Giving over a piece of himself to her that day, as she had to him, had helped him to grieve. It was the simple act of contact with another human being that had made him feel whole. Someone else stepping in to help replace what he had lost.
Suddenly he felt as though he were being ripped through a cloud, a low rumble thundering next to his ear as his eyes opened to a bleary world that was cold and hard and dull. He was disoriented, a film over his eyes and a scaly tail in his face. His stomach lurched as he realized that he had been dreaming, and the colorful world he had come from dropped from under his feet and he landed with a thud on his bruised emotional state. He felt as though he had lost something, waking up with a weight and on his chest and a hole in his heart. His quilt had fallen onto the floor, and hugging his knees to his chest and shivering in the cold, he felt tears come to his eyes. Saphira's liquid eyes fell to his, and he could tell she knew exactly what he was thinking.