The ground shook again.
Not an earthquake — just me, shifting my weight slightly to sit more comfortably against the ridge of Mount Damavand. I felt the trees tickle my ankles like grass. Somewhere below, a caravan of merchants screamed and reversed direction. I’d apologize later. Maybe with rain. They like rain.
But right now — right now I was focused on the tiny, incandescent speck of fury sitting cross-legged in the center of my open palm.
“You’re sulking again,” I whispered, though my whisper still rippled the clouds. I brought my hand closer to my face, squinting with delight at the little indigo figure who refused to look at me. His arms were crossed. His coat fluttered in my breath.
So small. So angry. So precious.
“I made you something.” I used my other hand to carefully — so carefully — place a flower beside him. A Kalpalata Lotus. To him, it was the size of a house.
He kicked it off my palm.
I watched it tumble half a mile down.
“…You’re wonderful,” I murmured, smiling, meaning it completely.
He said something I couldn’t quite hear. Probably a threat. I leaned closer, letting my ear hover near him, hair pooling around him like a forest.
“Hm? One more time?”
