The light is low, burning away at the distant horizon, long past half-day with the work barely begun.
"Thread."
Hours now, against the gnarl of tree-roots digging into the dirt and muck.
Solid enough, and cool.
"Thread, Della."
Della lifts her head, eyes closed, instinctively reaching into the knotted pouch on her hip.
The tangle protects, but keeps what it can.
"Della!"
Far too sharp.
"Calm, Tev, I have it."
She rubs an eye with one arm and holds out a spool of yellow thread in the other hand. As he reaches to take it she pulls back, locking in his gaze.
"Softly."
She says it with a distinct firmness, only slightly undermined by her exhaustion. He feels the weight. Dropping his eyes and offering no retort, she smiles as he takes the thread.
The roots beneath them gently ripple, drinking in what's left of the light in the sky and feeding it into the earth.
Her rest all but ruined, Della relents, stretching with an indulgent yawn. The light was nearly spent, and even with more, it wouldn't be long before Tev was prodding her for something else. She lets her fingers brush against the bark as she stands, bracing against the twisted mass of wood that keeps them afloat above the muck. Gazing through the mesh of inter-woven branches, she frowns.
Judging from what little was permeating the woods, and with a modicum of luck, they had another half-hour. It would be enough. More than enough. At least, for someone practiced.
"You don't think I can do it."
"Tev-"
"You don't, I can tell it in your eyes. You don't have any faith in me Della, you-"
"Softly, Tev," she whispered through her teeth, brows raised.
He looked away again, choosing his words carefully,
"You need to trust me, Della."
She sighs,
"I do."
A cruel chuckle,
"Why don't I believe you?"
It was often like this. Tev was skilled, there was no denying it, but he was newly-taught. He needed more, so much more than Della was prepared to give. Someone so easily shaken was hard to rely on, and that was the root of the problem. Tev didn't just want to help, he wanted to help everyone. Anything less than pure-heroics was pointless, and earning anything less than absolute trust was his own failing. And it wasn't all words. In as little as two turns of the Moon he had done more than any of the others.
All from nowhere.
From next to nothing.
And so it was true, Della believed in him. She knew that he would do the absolute most he could, and accomplish much. Too much.
"I trust you, Tev,"
she walked carefully over the undulating branches, and knelt down at his side,
"I just need you to be careful."
"I am-"
Della's finger moves calmly to her lips before slowly reaching into her pouch, her eyes locked behind him. He stares straight ahead, hands faltering only slightly as he continues to work the thread. He breathes slowly, trying to keep calm, but he can already feel the cool air against the sweat that's forming; that sensitivity that comes with the knowledge that something, anything, is about to go horribly wrong.
"Della..."
She stares just past his neck, her head swaying ever so slightly as it follows her eyes. She's completely calm. She's always so damn calm.
"Della?"
He can feel the tenor of his voice change in his throat, every pin-prick of sweat erupting across his body, each nonexistent finger lingering just too long on his neck. His body screams to turn, to face it.
Face it head on.
Show that strength, that resolve.
Don't be a coward, Tev.
"Della, don't worry I-"
As he moves to stand she thrusts her hand past his head; as it passes he catches a glimpse of something red for just a moment before she's right in front of him, eyes still fixed behind.
He stays, half standing, not sure why he moved or what to do.
Her lips right next to his ear, he can feel her breath.
"You need to finish the work," she whispers.
Slowly, he sits back down.
His work.
The needle.
How did he forget?
After a time, Della breathes a deep sigh, and slumps down beside him. As he glances over her eyes are shut once more.
"How long?"
"Not much longer," he mutters, "promise I'll get it done."
As the horizon fades from view and the churning of the roots subside, Della stares eyes-shut at the sky through the infinity of branches, to the empty moon above.
"I believe you."
