She is darting about above him, and her laughter is echoing and sweet in the lazy-humid-warm evening. He is looking up, and he is sweating (or perhaps simply having water condense on him) and he is smiling as well, because her vigor is infectious.
"Join me do," she says, when she has finally caught her breath to an extent, though she is still climbing, still striving and straining and reaching for things greater than she is, as she has done and will do for every day of her life, because that is the whole point of living, or so she thinks.
"Why?" he asks simply, and he is sedentary, placid, docile, a sheep waiting for either guidance or slaughter, with a simple trusting faith in others to decide which it should be.
"It's fun," she says simply, and then she lets herself drop down onto his lap. He squeaks in pain and vague indignation.
"Was that fun too?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.
"Absolutely," says she, and she pats him on the head, and now he is reaching out and tugging at her face.
In the muggy-sticky-hot evening, in the careful arms of Caelan, Zephyr finally slows to a still.
A/N: I honestly find this ship distressingly cute.
~Mademise Morte
