01-19-2026, 03:37 PM
Dani had never truly been in the habit of announcing herself, letting the space know she had arrived. It wasn’t her way, the opposite ingrained since childhood and patiently-taught lessons of how to move quietly between trees. It became especially true on days when the land itself felt like it was speaking in full flow, a run-on sentence she was able to tap into when time and focus allowed. The wind had teeth up here on the rise, biting without judgement, tugging at the loose ends of dark hair, whispering through grass in conversation. It was that feeling she’d decided to follow rather than Forge himself, steps slow and measured and silent against soft soil as they always were, boots finding familiar purchase. The earth knew her, especially here, recognised the way she held her weight.<br><br>His form was familiar. Stopping a few paces back, always conscious enough to fall short of intruding, the Cheyenne took a moment to breathe the moment in. Rare peace, stillness, a chance to share the same sky. The sunset had already bled itself half to death by now, oranges deepening towards red, the lake below catching it all. Folding her arms loosely, gaze tracking the horizon instinctually before it slid, inevitably, to the man seated on the rock. Forge looked… still. Not at rest, not exactly, but braced. For what, she couldn’t perceive, and it wasn’t for her to pry even when the given nature of her mutation meant that she could. For a long moment, she let him have the stillness.<br><br><span style='color:#f5f49e'>“You picked a good place,”</span> was what came out of Mirage’s mouth when she did decide to speak, steady and intent on not disturbing the air, not even meant as a compliment but a level observation. <span style='color:#f5f49e'>“The ground listens better up here.”</span><br><br>No clarification, no explanation of her meaning. The Cheyenne only shifted her weight and then lowered herself down on the grass, keeping the companionable space between them. Drawing a knee up and resting her forearm on it, her fingers idly brushed against the soil she’d trodden moments before, pressed to it, calming. <span style='color:#f5f49e'>“My grandfather used to say that the land remembers us, even when we forget ourselves.”</span><br><br>Lifting her stare back to the blazing sky, then back to Forge, Dani’s expression smoothed into something unreadable. Open, though, an invitation that offered listening without judgement. <span style='color:#f5f49e'>“Something tells me you didn’t venture all the way out here just to watch the sun set.”</span>