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The world is ending, but inside Samol’s house, it seems like it could drag on forever. The morning is sunny and with a bare hint of chill in the air. Spring is here and they’re grateful to leave the harsh winter behind. But that also brings them one step closer to summer.
None of it matters as they seat together on the porch with a cup of warm tea, taking on the clear air. Fero’s feet brush the grass, swinging them back and forth. As if he couldn’t wait to start running and never stop.
Samol wouldn’t stop him and he won’t stop him when the day comes. It weighs on his old heart, but he knows it must happen. The world seems to have stopped for them, but it will eventually catch up; he can feel it in his bones, these random pains.
Fero puts his empty mug down and jumps to the ground. He starts talking and gesturing about his last idea for a new creature. It warms Samol’s heart, makes him forget the burning nothing that is eating him alive.
He gets caught up on it, they exchange ideas and jokes and, suddenly, instead of Fero an impossible creature stands before Samol. Fero tilts his feathery head as if asking for Samol’s opinion. It’s beautiful, just like everything they’ve done together.
Samol approached him and runs his fingers through the feathers of Fero’s head, giving him a blessing, welcoming this new creature to a dying world. It brings him a mixture of joy and sadness, but soon his hands are on top of a halfling’s head and he forgets about everything.
Fero’s hands circle his waist, he buries his face on Samol’s waist. “I don’t need to kneel to worship you,” he says with a wicked chuckle that sets Samol in a fit of laughter. It’s Samol who kneels to press a quick kiss on Fero’s lips.
Fero always kisses like it’s his first time. He’s shy but enthusiastic, uncomplicated and raw. And when they’ve had enough, they smile and go for a walk around the house. Not too far away. Samol isn’t feeling strong enough for that, but he always walks farther with Fero by his side that he did on his own, even when he had more strength.
Neither of them needs to eat, but sometimes they enjoy doing it. They hadn’t talked about it, but both know it’s just another excuse to create something together. The sky is now dark outside, the night is cold in the middle of the forest, “but I’m warm by your hearth.” Samol knows he isn’t just talking about the temperature.
They always can have everything they need: if they didn’t find it on their walk, they can create it. Fero cuts the vegetables while Samol minds the fire, both sitting quiet and content. Once everything is in the pot, Fero curls up to Samol’s side, who, in turn, put an arm around his shoulders.
The soup tastes plane but the warmth it brings them makes it worth eating. Fero has a second bowl while Samol strums his guitar, not playing any song in particular, but enjoying the sounds he gets out of it.
Samol tires before Fero yawns for the first time, but he doesn’t put the guitar down. He caresses its strings until he can see Fero rubbing his eyes. Without a word, they both stand up and get under the covers of the cot they share.
At first, they said they shared it for convenience and warmth. Everything is hard and cold outside, but laying side by side they could forget about it.
Most nights they talk in hushed whispers as if they were trying not to awaken a neighbor. There’s no one around and Fero has never cared who he bothered. But it feels right to speak only loud enough for each other to hear.
This night they do talk, but instead of falling asleep to each other’s voice, Fero caresses Samol chest. One caress turns into two, into a kiss, into a symphony of laughter and beautiful moans.
They stop before they get too tired to go on and Fero buries his face on Samol’s chest, breathing him in. “You smell like the earth.” Samol answers whatever witty first crosses his mind and becomes speechless when Fero holds him tighter.
The day is getting closer and both of them know it. Fero is good at bringing new creatures into the world and it fills Samol with pride. It also means his smart rude halfling will need to go back into the world, their last futile attempt to save him and save their lives on Hieron.
Samol knows he’s dying and that nothing is going to stop that. But, just this time, he wishes he could live only a little longer. Only a few more years to let Fero have a good life. It won’t happen, of course.
Samol buries his hand on Fero’s curls, feeling hair and flowers. Just for this night, he’s here and Fero is too and they bask in each other’s warmth. And that’s enough for him.