if it's solace robin is wanting, she's come to the wrong place. freya looks up at her, puzzles over who she is for a tad longer than she probably should, and then grunts as she kicks her gauntlet back on. the metal snaps together, melding seamlessly (thanks, hoenn!) and then she stands, grabbing her scabbard as she goes. 

robin's request is greeted with silence at first. enough so that lyune even lifts his head. the scarred muzzle of the salamence swings toward robin, maw parting to parse her scent, lip curling in a snort shortly after. freya pats the side of his cheek.

"only if you carry my quiver for me," she says and points to where it lay, rumpling the grass. she buckles her scabbard and sword to her hip, smiling. she recognizes that look. she knows the doubts, the worries, the fears that are festering inside. lyune could taste them; freya can feel them. 

"we can talk while we shoot."

robin coello

☉

lyune watches them go, considers following, and then rests his head back down on the grassy knoll, too content to bathe in his patch of sunlight. freya doesn't mind; he's an intimidating presence to most and the girl beside her seems an elastic ready to snap. 

still, dozens of the draciary's denizens poke at them as they walk. dragonair slither about, greeting freya with affectionate nips to her forearms, her ankles. a couple of axew and trapinch plod after them for a bit before breaking away, scattering when their handlers go to scoop them up. 

"the dragons," she says mildly. 

the practice field is taller than it is wider and along the walls are a variety of caves. salamence of all sizes slink around. some of the younger ones turn their heads. drool gathers in their mouths. an odd pole sticks out of the ground at the center of the field. 

freya goes to a cooler and sinks the claws of her gauntlets into a frozen miltank shank, lifting with a grunt. 

"it's good practice for them. and a bit enriching. the arrows i use for this won't harm them. salamence scales are too thick." the pole has a dark, gruesome hook hanging from it and she heaves the shank up onto it. she gives it a couple of test tugs and, satisfied, walks back to robin. 

the dragons wait patiently for her signal.

"now, let's hear it," she says, reaching around robin to withdraw an arrow.

robin coello

☉

snarls whisper from the mouths of the caves. two salamence snap their jaws in warning at each other, claws flexing against stone in anticipation. they are wild things, held fast at the fringes only by loyalty to the woman who tests their patience. 

they too despite the waiting.

a brow arches at her first comment. it's a common sentiment and one she's even shared before, but that was before she stared down the barrel at political repercussions, at all the lives that can be impacted by a single piece of information.

"i have spent nearly every waking hour planning for what's to come. so have my colleagues. there are a thousand and one pieces to all of this and we cannot afford to let our adversaries know what we're doing. we can only trust that our own trust us."

freya fishes out another couple of arrows and reaches into a pouch at her side. with a swipe of her thumbs, she decorates the arrowheads with different swathes of paint. and while robin talks, she pockets the paints and withdraws her sword. 

it's a wicked piece of metal, curved and gleaming, meticulously cared for. her thumb presses to the side of the hilt and with a rough up and down snap of her arm, the blade is cleft in twain. it snaps into position, blade becoming limbs, hilt becoming grip. an obsidian thread races down the back and she nocks one of the arrows with a hooked finger. 

and you're so, like, composed.

the fire in her stirs; ancient anguish and primordial pain festers in her blood, twisting her insides, reminding her that she is part of a larger whole. somewhere in the skies, the serpent waits too, but a millennia of existence has made them patient in ways no mortal can fathom. 

it's why freya is patient too. 

"i do not sleep very well," she says. "the three hours or so i've been getting every night  are riddled with nightmares. someone i love very dearly is in a complicated slew of danger. and the city i abandoned three years ago is still suffering under a terrorist's regime. i can assure you, robin, that outside of my own slice of paradise here, i am not composed."

and then she tucks her chin and the hiss that slips past her teeth is both sharp and ragged: "tlush."

a blue and maroon shape darts into the air and she turns on her heel, eyes narrowing to trace the sprightly dragon's trajectory. his fangs gleam, spittle spattering the side of his neck, and then a bright splotch of pink explodes on its shoulder. claws graze the flank, sending it spinning on the hook, but he knows he's lost his chance at his prize. 

his wings flare and he retreats. freya chuckles. 

"it's another test of endurance. the waiting, i mean. but i have found it's easier if you surround yourself with people who are also waiting. who can share that burden with you."

she holds out the bow and a green arrow. "want to try?"

robin coello

☉

"it took me too long to learn that," she replies softly, that threadbare smile on her face tugging a bit too taut. the weight of the world on her shoulders, turned into the object of her own grief, swearing up and down that it was and only ever would be for his good, for their good, and at the end of the day all he'd done is hate her for leaving him out of it.

for not believing in him, and trusting him to trust her. 

"a dear friend of mine asked me once if i knew what strength is." robin takes the bow from her and she stifles her amusement at clumsy fingers, bravado giving way to the immediate realization that something's not right. 

"and i thought myself a silly little dragon. that i must be bigger and faster and meaner than all the others." she goes to robin's side and swiftly fits around her, firm hands taking her own. lean, sinewy muscles flex against her as she pulls robin's fingers back on the bowstring, holding taut, urging her to take aim. 

"but we're not dragons. we are painfully, pitifully human, and the strongest thing we can do is know when to ask for help."

a low hiss rattles behind her teeth and an even smaller shape darts from its hiding place on the ground, wings only half-furled so it can speed like an arrow itself toward its prize. 

"take aim and tell me when."

robin coello

☉

keeping yourself busy. telling yourself, as you work to the bone, that this, surely, must be enough. as you smile and promise that you are okay, that you can handle it, that you are just waiting for the inevitable, mind unraveling as the tasks beneath you become monotony. 

i know, robin. i know, i know.

and she's so sorry that it's come to this. that people like robin, like Gwendolyn Conway , like Hyakkaryōran Tsubaki  - they don't get to come into their adulthood on solid foundation. 

but her grip tightens. she does not sway to the prickles of insidious resentment and hate that could make her falter. no longer will she stumble. robin guides them. one of freya's braids slithers over her shoulder, down robin's side; mega stones woven into her plaits sparkle in the sun. 

robin's heart stutters. freya's breath tickles the crown of her head. 

ori nears his prize and freya narrows her eyes, gauging the distance, sizing up the shot, nudging only slightly to the right when robin commands they let go. the arrow clatters. bright, mossy green paint lights up ori's underbelly.

his claws scrabble for purchase against the haunch and freya clicks her tongue when he tears a scrap for himself regardless.

she withdraws, leaving the bow in robin's hands, and juts her chin towards the grip. "lock your thumb there and give it a flick; it'll turn back into a sword. i'm still not a swordsman by any means so i can't teach you, but i do have starter bows if you ever want to learn archery."

a thin smile. "or you can learn about the dragons. or, at the end of the day, you can borrow some of this space to breathe." the small salamence scurries up to her and noses her palm. she tickles his cheek and coos affectionately, smile melting to something warmer. less strained. 

"you just tell me when you need it."

robin coello

☉

"came up with the design in a dream," she says. "somehow ALEXANDER STONE took my scribbles and made it a reality." her arrows were once devon tech too, made to fit the quiver he fashioned for her, but new hands are making those for her. new pieces have replaced dented and damaged parts whenever she walks away from a battle.

when robin offers, she takes the weapon back and slides it into its scabbard. not to be forgotten, ori nudges her fingers again and she shoos him away with a release word. he hisses delightedly and half a dozen other dragons clamber out of their caves to descend upon the hunk of frozen meat. 

most dragons aren't cuddly companions (to most people, anyway). freya is content to lay in a nest of dragonair or salamence with the soft, flat scrape of their scales, but she leads robin over to a modest den housing two pillowy dragons.

"you'll have to let the altaria get comfortable with you before they let you nap with them, but kaheera and baloo are wonderful. aaaand - " she says, stepping to the side to check the laminate sheet pinned to their post - "they were just fed so they're sleepy."

her heart is still in knots. every smile, every sigh of relief, is a reminder that she is, in some ways, responsible for her. she could make a mistake. she could underestimate their forces, make the wrong call, and robin will be there in the thick of it. another body. another number for her counts. 

"take all the time you need," she says and turns to go.

robin coello

☉