winter night
Traveling in the winter is hell for her gills.
It’s hell in the form of raw cotton layers and jackets, and it’s hell in the form of bitter cold air. Land clothing— human clothing, Gura thinks— rubs against her gills. She only found comfort with everything when she began tearing slits for them, and that comfort means nothing when she has to wear more than one layer. Those slits become counterproductive when she needs to wear more than one layer anyway, because chilly winter breezes nip at her skin and that’s borderline unbearable for her gills.
She’s never going to get used to it. She knows she’s never going to get used to it. But she finds the weather to be bearable enough, particularly for early winter. The next town over is only a three-day trek away. A quick little trek has never hurt her, and she knows. She knows she wants to get used to it.
There’s just one thing she forgot to account for: winter nights.
I’m stupid, she thinks hysterically. I’m a big dumb idiot, is what I am.
Autumn has her finding an ounce of warmth in her bag of canned food. Winter has her doing the same thing, but at night, it doesn’t do much. She’s forcing herself to walk through it, teeth chattering noisily.
Halfway through the night, she spots something bright in the woods.
Gura freezes for a moment, caught by the idea of a fire. Is that a fire? She doesn’t see any smoke. She deflates a little when she realizes that she’s staring at a woman. A woman who’s resting against a tree with a blanket.
She has wings. And her wings, Gura stares, are definitely made of fire.
There are a lot of questions in her mind. The first one goes a little something like:
“Hey, do you really need that blanket?”
The woman peers at her. Pinkish tourmalines are gazing right at her, and Gura feels her heart hop into her throat.
She looks a little amused. “What? You think I don’t need it or something?”
“Well, uh–” Gura flounders just a bit. The air surrounding this woman is not as cold as the air two feet away from her, and she has to resist the urge to bask in it. “I mean, your wings are warm?”
“And? So what?” The woman’s eyes sweep over her. “You don’t have anything to keep you warm for the night?”
Embarrassment is burning up her shoulders. Gura bristles as she says, “No, and I don’t have anyone with me.”
“Hm.” The woman looks at her thoughtfully. “Where are you going?”
“Just up north,” she blurts, sounding desperate. Gura is acutely aware of the part of her that wants this woman to follow her. She tries to ignore it as she adds, “There’s a town about two days away from here.”
“Well,” the woman begins, “Okay. You can’t have my blanket, because I don’t trust you not to steal it, but you can cuddle up to one of my wings if you want.”
Oh my god. Gura smiles. “Thank you.” Oh god.
The woman nods. “What’s your name, by the way?”
“It’s Gura,” she says, dropping her bag.
“Gura,” the woman repeats. “Interesting name. I’m Kiara.”
//