There's no time to speak yet, nothing comes before the need to just sink into that familiar embrace. Sal holds in a breath, but for all her wounds and bruises sting and nag at the crushing, desperate need for contact, she doesn't mind. With absolute certainty, she knows she'd go through them all again and so much more if it meant finding her way back here again.
Her arms slide around Anathema's waist effortlessly. When she breathes again finally, taking in the familiar scent of her girlfriend's perfume and the warm feel of breath against her shoulder, it's more than enough to send her over. The tears sting her eyes and Sal is tough alright, she tries holding it all in, but she also knows it's a damn futile effort.
Closing her eyes, she feels the wet of her own tears as they slide down her cheek and understands, very clearly now, that there's no guard against this. Anathema, savior of the world, heir to a heavy name, witch and scryer, has proven capable of what the best warriors in Sal's world would kill over. She finds the weak point in her armor easily, breaking it apart and grasps right at the truth of it all.
Out here in the warm daylight, there's no hiding from it.
"I'm home," she whispers hoarsely. "I'm home now, it'll be alright. I'll tell you all about everything, whatever you want to know."
Sal only lets go enough to move her hands up to cup Anathema's face. Her leather gloves smell of gunsmoke and the palms are worn from so much travel. Her face is covered in tears and dirt, there's a bruise by her jaw and a scrape above one eyebrow, but she forgets all about it. "You've still got that fucking bandage kit around here somewhere, don't you?"
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Her arms slide around Anathema's waist effortlessly. When she breathes again finally, taking in the familiar scent of her girlfriend's perfume and the warm feel of breath against her shoulder, it's more than enough to send her over. The tears sting her eyes and Sal is tough alright, she tries holding it all in, but she also knows it's a damn futile effort.
Closing her eyes, she feels the wet of her own tears as they slide down her cheek and understands, very clearly now, that there's no guard against this. Anathema, savior of the world, heir to a heavy name, witch and scryer, has proven capable of what the best warriors in Sal's world would kill over. She finds the weak point in her armor easily, breaking it apart and grasps right at the truth of it all.
Out here in the warm daylight, there's no hiding from it.
"I'm home," she whispers hoarsely. "I'm home now, it'll be alright. I'll tell you all about everything, whatever you want to know."
Sal only lets go enough to move her hands up to cup Anathema's face. Her leather gloves smell of gunsmoke and the palms are worn from so much travel. Her face is covered in tears and dirt, there's a bruise by her jaw and a scrape above one eyebrow, but she forgets all about it. "You've still got that fucking bandage kit around here somewhere, don't you?"