She laughs as he swings her, a wild startled thing.
"‘Course he did. And thank fuck.”
Tracey’s a smartass weasel, but he’s their damn weasel, and between him and Zoë that’s three more than she ever figured made it out. That’s three more names to scratch off her skin.
She’s sizing him up, counting the lines, willing to be there’s half-a-dozen deeper ones stitched up where she can’t see. It’s a long moment before she loosens her fingers, takes a deep breath. It’s been a decade since she practiced explaining this to anyone. Since Lothering went, and she couldn’t keep pretending that they were ever gonna need an excuse.
If her eyes are a little misty now, that’s no one’s right business.
“Sam and I got out.” Not Courey, or Marks. Neither of them need her recounting those details. “Hid long enough to make a break. He’s out in Starkhaven now. Got a little boy."
Finally, she pulls away half a step, good hand tapping anxious at the bad.
“Y'all go back?”
Not like she expects him to go haring on about desertion, half the fucking army left them first. But something in her's gotta know, has to hear it. Absolution or blame, after so many years. We were gonna look, She wants to protest, despite herself. On my grave, they wouldn't let me.
like she'd notice that part
"‘Course he did. And thank fuck.”
Tracey’s a smartass weasel, but he’s their damn weasel, and between him and Zoë that’s three more than she ever figured made it out. That’s three more names to scratch off her skin.
She’s sizing him up, counting the lines, willing to be there’s half-a-dozen deeper ones stitched up where she can’t see. It’s a long moment before she loosens her fingers, takes a deep breath. It’s been a decade since she practiced explaining this to anyone. Since Lothering went, and she couldn’t keep pretending that they were ever gonna need an excuse.
If her eyes are a little misty now, that’s no one’s right business.
“Sam and I got out.” Not Courey, or Marks. Neither of them need her recounting those details. “Hid long enough to make a break. He’s out in Starkhaven now. Got a little boy."
Finally, she pulls away half a step, good hand tapping anxious at the bad.
“Y'all go back?”
Not like she expects him to go haring on about desertion, half the fucking army left them first. But something in her's gotta know, has to hear it. Absolution or blame, after so many years. We were gonna look, She wants to protest, despite herself. On my grave, they wouldn't let me.