As the winged woman took it, the little girl fanned out her skirt, showing the beautiful embroidery along the hem. Red flowers. “Do you like my dress?”
Delyth laughed the way people do when they are met with something so entirely unexpected that they have no other recourse. “Yes, I do. It’s very pretty.” She felt certain that she knew no such little ones, neither among the dead or living, but there was something naggingly familiar about the girl’s startlingly blue eyes. “Are you collecting red flowers to match?”
In her time in the land of the dead, Delyth had seen no flowers that were not pink. Perhaps the girl could help her find other rare blooms as well.
She nodded, her dark braids bobbing. “Red is my favorite color.” Despite Delyth’s size and bandages, the little girl stepped closer, clearly unafraid. “Do you want to help me find more? My friend is going to braid them into my hair. She says she might even make me a crown.” The idea of a crown of flowers made the little girl smile all the more.
Delyth’s shoulders sagged slightly. She did not want to disappoint the little one, and yet she did not have time to hunt for flowers. She had but an hour to find her lover and return to the land of the living. How much time had passed? Half her time? Two thirds? It was impossible to tell in this place.
Still, it was clear both that she needed help and that the little girl was familiar with this strange landscape. “Red is a nice color for flowers. If I help you find some, will you help me find someone important? Her eyes are my favorite color— a lovely honey-yellow— , and I’m in a great hurry to reach her.”
“But you only just got here,” the little girl complained, distracted by the idea of Delyth hurrying. Perhaps, no one rushed in this place. She lifted up her free arm, the common gesture of all children looking to be held.
Who was Delyth to refuse? She reached down and lifted the little girl easily to rest against her hip. “You’ll have to be careful with me, bak un. I fought in a great battle, and now my ribs are sore. Now, where shall we look for pretty friends and flowers?”
“Did you fight the monster? The one you saved me from?” The little girl nodded down the hill, wrapping her free arm across Delyth’s shoulder. The slope was not so steep, and the ground was even, with no hidden rabbit holes or weeds to trip them.
The warrior’s brow creased in confusion. “I saved you from a monster?” She had fought men and Gods, but she could not recall fighting monsters. Did they even exist? The real world, with all its violence and hurt, was starting to feel far away, as though she was awake now, and it had all been a long nightmare. She resettled the girl against her hip, wincing only slightly as a tiny knee bumped her ribcage. “I didn’t realize we had met before.”
“You helped me come here. It’s much nicer here than before.” She settled her head against Delyth’s shoulder, and with the comfort that only a child could possess with a stranger, let her small palm rest on the arch of the warrior’s wing. “I like it here.”
Suddenly, the image of a single crystalline eye in a field of burnt flesh erupted in Delyth’s mind. She had closed that little blue orb forever with a single thrust of a very sharp knife.
“I’m glad you found somewhere safe.” Tears were spilling unbidden down the warrior’s cheeks as she tried to reconcile the two images: the child burnt and dying. The child whole and happy and wildflower hunting. “Are you happy here? Will you forgive me? I am so sorry for the pain— the pain you were in.”
Small fingers still clutching wildflower stems came up to brush away Delyth’s tears, red petals caressing her cheek. “Why are you crying? You don’t have to be sad anymore. This is a happy place. My mama and papa are here, and I have friends. You can be my friend too.” She enveloped Delyth in a tight hug, effectively crushing the flowers between them. Their scent wafted on the air, mingling with the salt of the warrior’s tears.
At the base of the hill, a clutch of red flowers burst through the earth, dancing on a gentle breeze. The little girl squirmed to be let down and immediately started to pick fistfuls of the blooms. Single-mindedly, she collected stems and deposited them into Delyth’s waiting hands. Since there was no sun, there was no way to know how much time passed, but still, Delyth could feel it eeking by.
Before she could urge the little girl to hurry, a voice called from the other side of the hill. “Fflur?” The little girl, presumably Fflur, jumped up, suddenly excited.
“That’s my friend.”
Delyth stilled, her heart thudding to a stop in her chest. Her belly was a pit, and her hands cold even in the comfortable warmth of the afternoon glow. She knew that voice. It occupied her dreams, her thoughts, her memories. She heard it when she read the journal, even now stored with her things. She heard it when she woke in the night and had to remind herself that the speaker was not there.
If she turned now to face the voice, would its owner still be there? Or would she again be so much memory-mist, fading amidst Fflur’s red blooms? Delyth was no coward, and yet here, even her courage seemed slight. What would she do if Alphonse was not standing behind her, if Aryus whisked her
