[ Hardly here long enough to yearn for home, and still Gala feels the relief of Gilia in her arms. It feels like homecoming all the same, comfort found so easily in her princess, her devotion to her, and in knowing that Gilia will be safe now, because Gala won't allow it to be any other way.
(The fact that Gilia has been safe without her, mostly, doesn't seem to have been a convincing notion, no matter how many told her so.) ]
This place took me from you, first. Or- so I thought.
[ All of her roughness, the intensity in her stare, how sternly she'd communicated with Ianthe, Iggy, others who claimed friendship with Gilia - all of it, in an instant, disappears when she's with Gilia. Her voice is soft now, the tension in her shoulders loosens, and when she looks down at her, at last placing her princess back on her feet, it's with those soft, sad eyes of hers that betray her worry and softened heart, more fawn than stag. Tender, she lifts a hand to place gentle against her cheek, a calloused thumb wiping one of those happy tears from her cheek, when she notices the shake in Gilia's fingers against her arm, the overwhelming sense of relief, as though she's needed her-
The wound. Suddenly it hits her: where is Gilia's wound?
It should be a good thing that it's gone, but it's- how? Her brows furrow, clearly thinking, and gently she moves her hand from her princess' cheek to her neck, careful, as though it might hurt her if she dares touch it, as though there might be teeth there yet, ready to swallow her down to the depths, even though there- isn't. ]
no subject
(The fact that Gilia has been safe without her, mostly, doesn't seem to have been a convincing notion, no matter how many told her so.) ]
This place took me from you, first. Or- so I thought.
[ All of her roughness, the intensity in her stare, how sternly she'd communicated with Ianthe, Iggy, others who claimed friendship with Gilia - all of it, in an instant, disappears when she's with Gilia. Her voice is soft now, the tension in her shoulders loosens, and when she looks down at her, at last placing her princess back on her feet, it's with those soft, sad eyes of hers that betray her worry and softened heart, more fawn than stag. Tender, she lifts a hand to place gentle against her cheek, a calloused thumb wiping one of those happy tears from her cheek, when she notices the shake in Gilia's fingers against her arm, the overwhelming sense of relief, as though she's needed her-
The wound. Suddenly it hits her: where is Gilia's wound?
It should be a good thing that it's gone, but it's- how? Her brows furrow, clearly thinking, and gently she moves her hand from her princess' cheek to her neck, careful, as though it might hurt her if she dares touch it, as though there might be teeth there yet, ready to swallow her down to the depths, even though there- isn't. ]
You're... healed?