Sephiroth

"There is a bridge up ahead."

I turn to my side as I speak, gaining line of sight back down the trail. Our progress has been predictably slow, but I've found I'm unbothered. I've made this journey many times now, accommodating her limitations has somewhat returned its novelty. And—

I watch as the Cetra girl looks up from her intent concentration on her footing, one slim hand clutching her meagre weapon, daintily full lips set together firmly in farcical yet admirable determination.

She is... amusing.

The mountain fauna has learnt to leave me alone for the most part, but her presence seems to have readjusted that. She's been quite quiet since the first ambush.

The look on her face had been one I'd seen many times before. Raw awe and fear— just for a moment, as she watched me flick the blood from masamune. I've never before found the sight to possess such incongruous appeal though.

She'd made a swift recovery, regaining her figurative footing to resume her well balanced performance of affectations. The effect is somehow less irritating than before. There is nowhere for her to truly retreat up here. I'm free to study her little dances at leisure.

—"I could have dealt with... some of them"—

She'd found her voice, dusting at her dress.

—"Maybe...one..."—

She'd shaken her head with a demonstrative sigh.

Playful, self effacing, distancing.

Her weakness bothers her.

Yet she never complains, dancing through her limitations with dextrously armoured smiles. I tilt my head slightly, observing her as she carefully picks her way to my side.

A curious amalgam of courage and avoidance.

"We have to cross that?" she asks, somewhat breathily, the view of the bridge below opening up to her— long, high and predominantly constructed of rope.

"Yes."

There's no sense in informing her about its previous collapse.

She exhales some of her nerves, long, shallow, and with minimal shake, turning languidly to put her hands on her hips and fix me with a witheringly accepting look.

"We'd better get on with it then."

I gesture her forward in response. This will be easier with her in front. Confusion blooms on her face but she delays questioning my order, gingerly making her way down the trail until she reaches the anchoring of rope.

"Um... So..."

"I will shadow you," I explain, waiting as she blinks at me, her lips parting and closing again more tightly.

She turns, looking out across the expanse before reaching for the rope, silently and slowly. I watch the minute trembling of her hand as she grips it, stepping forward, hesitating again at the first rung.

I reach from behind, placing my own hand next to hers, close enough that one finger tip of leather ghosts her skin illustratively. I lean over— indulging in another provocative whim— purposefully stopping precisely on the boarder of her discomfort.

"I won't let you fall."

I state it as fact because it is.

She steps suddenly forward, as if fleeing the threat of closeness reflexively. Her next step is slower, but soon we are moving. Good girl, I think with sardonic amusement.

I maintain a modest proximity, eyes drawn automatically to her pale and opaque materia. It's a Cetra heirloom. I'm almost certain of it. It's likely she is its only living key. Her breathing is shallow as she concentrates on her progress. I can tell from its little halts that her heart is racing. My gaze travels down the slope of her neck, noticing downy hairs standing on end around the soft flesh of her nape.

She really is quite young.

I was six around the time of Professor Gast's disappearance. She must be about twenty— twenty-one at most— this product of my desertion.

Cusping womanhood.

He doesn't know we're out here.

I don't have to wonder. He would never have allowed it.

An aberrant thrill darts smoothly through me, alerting me more unambiguously to something that has perhaps been germinating since we first met.

I hear the faint warble of the wind initiating its unearthly chorus from the south west. She's preoccupied, tense with the focus of her crossing, oblivious to my continued admiration of her neck as I blithely imagine how it might feel to mark it with my mouth.

I have to stop myself from laughing. I can't recall when I last found anything quite so entertainingly inappropriate.

Sorry. Professor.

The rope bridge sways, causing the girl to freeze and sabotage the even distribution of her weight, resulting in the structure tilting further to one side, she reaches for stability in the direction of gravity, obeying foolish instinct. I lean subtly in the other direction regarding her calmly.

"You are unbalancing the bridge," I inform her patiently, "place your left hand back on the other side."

She looks up at me, widened eyes searching my face, trust and misgiving swaying within them. After a moment her eyes find mine, holding them, she exhales, turning away and reaching back over to the other side.

"Sorry," she murmurs, Her voice is quiet so I only catch a hint of its unusually brittle edge.

Our progress is smooth after that. She seems to have found that mysterious inner steel of hers again, making the rest of the journey with confident competence.

As soon as her feet hit solid ground she takes several quick steps inland, hair bouncing exuberantly. She spins towards me, arms wide in celebration.

I'm thrown for a moment by the contradiction of her body screaming I did it! And her voice enthusing an unanticipated "Thank you."

The way she says it.

Trust won.

I regale myself a moment in the openness of her body, in the abundant warmth of her flushed cheeks, in the sudden invitation of her eyes.

Her foolishness is quite charming.

"Do you have any offensive materia?" I ask, curiosity arresting me.

She'd be better off with anything casting based rather than that almost useless staff. I know her aptitudes. I know I wouldn't mind seeing them.

She stares back at me questioningly, eyes still lively with victory.

I know I wouldn't mind seeing more of this.

"I had limited funds..." she responds, arms falling to her sides.

I shake my head, reaching for a slot on the underside of my right arm.

"Here." I extend my arm towards her, offering up a concentrated piece of lightning.

She hesitates in momentary surprise before stepping forward, reaching up between us to tentatively retrieve it from me. It looks so much larger in her naked hand, tempestuous greens swirling.

"This is mastered..." she murmurs.

"You should still be able to use it."

She returns her attention to me, as if weighing my intent again, the implied knowledge of her incarceration festering between us. In short order her eyebrow twitches, lips quirking.

"I can't imagine getting the chance," she says innocently, donning mischief, cloaking apprehension.

I strip both away with an knowing smile.

"We will see," I promise.