Fickle Flame | OT7

Blood In The Air

Once through, he drops the door back into place. The last light of day slips away and the disorientation of night settles in around them. They both stay silent for a few heartbeats, letting the night come to life in the darkness. Crickets and frogs begin a subtle song that adds to the gentle rustle of leaves and the odd twig snapping in the distance.

"We should light some candles," Shayne's voice breaks the silence.

They dig around in their bags, pulling out some large tallow candles. Warren strikes a light stick against the floor, it flares brightly, and then the single flame dances at the end. He quickly sets to lighting the wicks. The handful of candles throw their silhouettes across the wooden walls, the light distorting as it illuminates the tree and branches overhead.

"It's so peaceful, I wish we could just stay here," Shayne whispers, looking around slowly.

"Live in a tree? Sounds like the perfect life. I'll be Tarzan and you can be Jane." He laughs and she shakes her head, a smile playing on her lips. They found an old Tarzan picture book once, the pages were really faded and some were stuck together but they would spend hours examining the pages they could and making up the parts of the story they couldn't read.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" She inquires as she starts to pull the rest of her things out of her pack. She pushes her bedroll to the side and pulls out small jars of red paste, a leather glove, and a wrapped packet.

"Of course, anything." He replies as he begins to also unpack his bag.

"Are you scared?" Her words hang in the air.

He stops, his hand still inside his bag. He lets out a heavy breath and his posture wilts slightly. He sits back and meets her gaze, his eyes searching her face. "I'm terrified." He pulls his knees up and rests his arms atop them, his face unreadable.

"I didn't mean...I-"

"No, it's fine. I need to face that. We should get started soon, it will take a while to complete the facultas," he says, his voice sounding suddenly weary.

She nods and grabs the jars of paste and the packet then approaches where he is sitting on the platform.

"Would you rather stand or sit?" In response, he pats the floor in front of him. She kneels and sets the jars off to the side, the packet she places beyond the jars.

"What's that?" He asks, nodding to the packet.

"Just...something for later."

He grunts softly in reply, his brows bunching as his demeanor darkens. She takes a deep breath and opens the first jar. The stinging metallic smell of the blood paste fills the air between them. He pulls off his top and tosses it to the side, revealing his glistening chest and stomach.

"Let's get this done with." He sits up straight, his arms hanging at his sides.

She moves closer, between his knees. The flames from the candles make the shadows on his face dance. Slipping on the leather glove, she dips her fingers into the jar and begins working on the facultas, her fingers trailing over his chest. It consists of sweeping arches and jagged lines, each line representing a path the warrior must take in life. The blood paste makes his skin tingle and burn slightly. His chest rises and falls under her fingers as they trace the lines that she had practiced for weeks on end leading up to this moment, just for him... for this. She works late into the night, perfecting each line along his torso and shoulders. As she makes the last stroke along his left shoulder, he goes to pull away but she gestures for him to stop.

"I have... there is something else, please." He stares up at her, seeing the moisture building in her eyes, and relaxes back into place. She dips her fingers into the jar one more time and in the middle of his chest, where no lines cross, she makes a sweeping half-circle with radiating lines then an upward stroke and a lazy downward turn. "There."