Title: Home Is Where the Heart Is
Fandom: The Echorium Sequence
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Katharine Roberts owns it all, and not me.
Notes: Lazim/Kherron. On the island, after the events of Song Quest.


A gust sweeps up on them and Kherron lifts his face to it, shaking his head like a horse. His hair whips around, and Lazim notices that it's getting curly, and the blue dye has stained his scalp. He looks intent on something, squinting out to the blue horizon. Lazim can tell he's listening, but for what he doesn't know. It's a Singer thing, he's pretty sure, and he doesn't expect to hear any of it. Sometimes he wishes he could, though, just so he could share it with Kherron. Like this windy day on the island shore.

"I don't even see you any more."

"I know." He hopes the sadness in Kher's voice is real.

"They have you doing all those Singer things..."

"And you're in Orderly training."

"We don't spend enough time together." I miss you, he wants to say, but he doesn't know if he should.

"I mean," he stumbles on, "you're my friend. We've been through all sorts of things together that I can't really talk to anyone about."

"Except Frenn."

"It isn't the same. He didn't do all the sneaking, and hiding, and plotting."

"Do you ever miss your home?"

"You mean the Karch? Not really."

"No, I mean your home. Family, house, friends, and I know you miss your ponies."

Lazim doesn't say anything for a moment. He looks at the blue stones by his feet, up the long flight of stairs, down the beach until it curves away, out of sight. Then he looks back at Kherron, who is peering at him curiously.

"This is my home. Where you are, is my home." Again, his gaze wanders, this time out to the ocean. It foams and crashes and moves constantly. What can hold Kher's attention like that, where the sea meets the sky? Why is he holding Kher's attention now? He mumbles, nearly inaudible, "And I miss you."

Kherron hears him, of course, Singer that he is. A part of Lazim had counted on that, the same part that warmed when he felt Kherron's hand on his shoulder, moving to the back of his neck. The other parts all shiver at the sudden warmth on this cold, gusty day where the wind feels like salt and smells like rain. His braids will come away wet with spray, he's sure. Kherron's hand is pulling him closer, tipping his head down slightly, and Lazim can feel the blue locks against his forehead, the heat, emenating.

Lips, brushing against his. They taste like salt, and Lazim licks them, flickering his tongue out. Kherron makes a quiet noise in his throat, and it is pure music.

"I miss you too," he mumbles, lips brushing Lazim's mouth. There is want in that voice, and loneliness, and yes, sadness. Kherron's breath smells warm and alive, like horses.

"Shh. You can have me." His fingers are buried in blue hair, one hand slips down to Kherron's shoulder, to his back. The Singer kisses him, fully, finally, and Lazim knows that this is right, this is his home.