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The sky was a russet red, the breeze ran its fingers gently down the plains. Grass shifted under its grip, billowing like an ocean of green blades. Birds called in the distance, their songs patient and lilting, and the world was enveloped in the light glow of the sun.
Morax stood, stock still, next to a woman with flowing hair.
It ran down her back in a ponytail, and he watched it absently as it was braided by the wind. His eyes were shards of amber, and they glittered as he blinked. The woman looked up. His gaze followed hers as she extended a single slender finger to point excitedly into the distance.
“Now, watch this,” Guizhong murmured, tugging at the white cloth of Morax’s sleeve. He felt his face heat up slightly, and his chin raised as he peered upward.
Two figures were outlined on the hill. A man and a woman, dressed in simple clothes, spun cloth that was fraying near the ends. Large circular hats stood out on their heads, shielding them from the sun, and they walked carefully, with large packs of what looked like rice grain on their backs. It was strapped to their chests with strips of leather, and it weighed them down by the shoulders as they stepped up the hill.
Morax blinked. Two humans. A pair of soldiers, no doubt, like the humans he had come to know before. They were not dressed in glittering armor, they had no swords strapped to their sides, but he could see strong, capable hands still untainted by blood.
Guizhong did not seem to share his sentiment. She reached out, gently, and took his hand.
Their fingers laced together like the bindings of an old book, and he could feel her pulse thrum beneath her skin. She had appeared like him--- and she was beautiful, wasn’t she?
The two farmers stumbled on the hill.
The woman tripped, and the rice grain spilled from her pack, staining the ground below her. Turning around, the man laughed good-naturedly, and leaned down to help her pick up the grains. His hand found hers as he helped her back to her feet, and a gentle smile flitted over his lips.
Morax’s face was blank.
“...What are they bound by?”
“What do you mean?”
The dark haired god turned to Guizhong, face brushed over with confusion.
“Do they share a contract?”
Laughter echoed quietly through the plains.
“They don’t have to share a contract to help each other, Morax,” Guizhong leaned to the side, rested her head against his burly arm. “They love each other. It’s what humans do.”
The farmers trudged up the side of the hill, and finally, they brought their palms to rest against the bark of an old, knotted oak tree. Sinking to the ground, they unloaded their packs and sat in the shade, sharing tea as they laced their fingers together.
Morax felt his face grow warm, and subconsciously, he squeezed Guizhong’s fingers.
When he spoke, his voice was low, unsure.
“We are not human,” Came the quiet words that danced through the air. “But… could we love each other…?”
And Guizhong smiled. Bringing her hand up, she rested it softly on the side of his face, watching as the pale skin there was dusted effortlessly with pink. Her lips curled upwards, teasingly.
“Could we, Morax?”