buried beneath my own silence

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It was familiar. The way the air wrapped around her feet and pulled her forward, embracing her wholly beneath the raptures of her subconscious. She'd grown used to the way the dreams carried her away—looked forward to it, really. It was a momentary reprieve from reality, a getaway that allowed her to be free. Without implication, without fault, without consequence. Even without the responsibility of faith, if she so wished it.

This dream was no different, startling again the bloom of warmth within her chest as she crossed the terrain with nimble steps. He was there, a faded memory cast upon the ground. Bundled tightly within the warmth of the season's hum of sun, he did not hear her—did not see her, either. How long had it been? Would he even remember her?

Patient steps disguised her eagerness as she approached, nose dipped to press it against the soft, russet fur of his spine. And his name, uttered beneath the hush of his dreams within dreams, and thick with her accent, fell from her lips. A smile, too, “Rafferty?”

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It was a dream, surely, preened and primed from the makings of desires even Twyla did not know. She had not forgotten the soft Irishman, how could she? But she did not so soon expect him in a land where she wandered, a land untouched by the memories—however few—the two had made. She was giddy, perhaps not so evidently, but giddy as she took him in.

“Rafferty here? How?” She wondered curiously, shifting into a delicate sit just a few spaces before him. How had she conjured him so realistically, so perfectly? Would she remember any of this, remember the memory of him now? So many questions, so little details, so little explanations. Her star had not explained anything of certainty.

The woman's paw played with the furs of his tail mindlessly, eyes drifting across his fervently. Could he explain something, anything, to her?

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Magic... Yes, she supposed that could be it. What other power could pull them from world to world before they succumbed to death, to fates they did not yet know? Twyla had only assumed it was the making of her Star Mother, another path to be set out for her. A new life to begin. Selfish as it was, Twyla was glad Rafferty had joined her. Because he had...no? He was here, in the makings of her dreams.. Oh.

Twyla's face fell if only for a moment, perhaps too quick for him to catch before she was offering him a sad smile. “Twyla mean not to leave.” Her shoulders fell as she blew a breath. “Twyla taken for something of greatness. Purpose.” Her gaze fell back to her paws, still anxiously fiddling with the tendrils of his tail. Where had her confidence fled to? Why was it that he made her come so undone, walls falling apart brick by brick? She was nothing but a submissive pup in his presence, nothing at all like the confident woman she'd grown to be.

“No.” Stern, to the point. She hated it. “A dream—a good one.” One that allowed his scent to permeate the air like he was here, one that allowed her to feel him like he was here. But dreams always ended, the light snuffed out when one must wake again. “Rafferty will seek me? When we wake?”

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Concern etched its way into her gaze. Twyla knew many things, of the earth and of the starlit skies, but emotions—others' emotions—that was something she did not so quickly understand. Though it was something in Rafferty's demeanor, a change, a shift. Like the world, perhaps her world—this dream—turned somber at the first sign of his own melancholy. “Just as Rafferty.” Her paw fell atop his, small in comparison but stark against his vibrant coat.

“Together. That is why Twyla and Rafferty here? To be great.” Her brows furrowed in confusion, in thought. Frazzled and too desperate to relinquish the compassion of his touch, of his presence, she shifted until his warmth could be felt beneath her pelt. Truly, for what other reason could they be here together?

Twyla's eyes wandered across the blue of his own, wondering mutedly of them both. Of their purpose, their connection, their friendship. Though she did not blush, did not flee from his gaze bashfully, something stirred within the pit of her stomach. A flutter and a hum, tethering her to his promise.

“The mountains...” Fervently, her stare captured his after it'd fallen. “Twyla is in the mountains.”

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