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They slept under full moon and starlight in the Wastes of Xhorhas. How odd the thought that at last nothing awaited them at the end of their travel – and yet everything. It was the last leg of their journey home. A roof over their heads, perhaps, a hearth and a bed to call their own. A partner to share it all with. Zadash was a paradise on the horizon.
The journal so carefully assembled over the past years had been given its final resting place, now laying with Zuala forevermore for her to enjoy the flowers within its pages. Beau could never express into words how grateful she was for her to have loved Yasha first. If she hadn’t, then who would have shaped Yasha into the woman she had become? Who would have made her believe in love at all? When Beau had knelt down and spoken to the woman long gone, she had felt a connection to this late stranger that lingered, even days after their departure. It was the worst of injustice that Zuala had been separated so brutally from the most precious good of all. Now that Yasha’s heart was in her care, Beau did not mean to squander it. She owed the dead woman that much. If all had been right in the world, Yasha would have been cherished till her last breath. This, Beau could still set right.
Cuddled under the same ragged old blanket, Beauregard and Yasha stared up at the sky at dusk and watched stars popping into view little by little till the vast darkness of night was filled with them. Ruidus was bright tonight. Her eyelids drooping with sleepiness, Beau leaned her head against Yasha’s shoulder and felt the brush of her lips at her temple.
"I used to think they were gods, each of them, watching over Exandria," Yasha said in a low voice, softer than soft. "The stars, I mean. Or angels."
Fumbling, her hand searched for Beau’s who clasped her fingers with Yasha’s under the blanket. The nights were cool in the Wastes and Yasha feared a campfire would set her old tribe on her tracks − she did not trust that they were not pursuing her − but body heat cured more woes than a bit of shivers.
"Not raised with the Empire-cautioned gods, I suppose," Beau said. Yasha’s thumb caressed her palm gently. "That’ll drive any godly poetics outta ya."
A low chuckle joined the nighty not-quite-silence of this barren land.
"I wasn’t raised with those gods," Yasha admitted. "The Stormlord, he… he sought me out."
She seemed to hesitate a moment, but when Beau gazed up at her with a sluggish blink, Yasha’s resolve firmed up. There was nothing Beau loved more than to see her shed all fears of awkwardness. As long as they both drew breath, she would have a confidante in Beauregard, that much was certain. All doubts about it belonged in the past.
"I remember a storm," Yasha said eventually, staring up at the sky. Not a cloud in sight tonight. "I was very little, and I think I lost my way back to the village. It was… not long after they found me. I barely remember any of it, but that night… I can't forget."
Beau could see their breaths in the cold air. She thought of another time they had been keeping watch on a night as biting as this one. How starkly things could change in a matter of months.
"They didn't look for you?" She hardly dared to ask. She suspected the answer already.
"I don't know," Yasha said simply. "The storm raged and I felt so… angry, and alone, and… I scared away all the beasts that tried to feed on me with some sticks, and by morning they found me curled up just outside the gates of the village. I did not know I was walking there, but I found my way through the storm."
In this foreign land that had been her home, Yasha's tongue loosened. Already, she had recounted many stories of her childhood and shared them with Beau in this last pilgrimage before they settled for good. Each moment, there was something new to admire about her.
"They shouldn't have left you out in the cold. You were just a kid."
Yasha hummed in subdued agreement. Her hand squeezed Beau's gently.
"I was eager to prove myself," she replied. "I was different, and I wanted to be… different in a good way. Excellent, perhaps."
"You are different in a good way," Beau retorted. "But those people didn't deserve you at your best."
Yasha's mouth narrowed, likely lost in too many memories to retell all at once, but she nodded. Wrapping an arm around Beau's shoulders, she pulled her closer and Beau snuggled into Yasha's warm skin, bathing in her, basking.
"I wish…"
Night swallowed Yasha's words as she took a moment to weigh out the rest of her thought, but Beau said nothing. She could do with a little more listening.
"I wish she could have seen me now. I know I haven't become that special, but… she always believed in me, and she would have been proud, I think."
Beau did not quite know what to say to that. Growing up, she had always thought her home life had been a shit show, but comparing it to what Yasha had been through, it felt like a walk in the park. Stifling a yawn, she tugged the blanket a little tighter around them and looked up at the stars again. Even in a gloomy place such as this, they were so, so beautiful. Gods watching over them, perhaps. Or angels.
"Who says she's not?" She replied in a low, reverent voice.
And as Yasha held her close and kept watch as she slowly fell asleep, Beau let herself pray a little prayer of thanks for whatever divine force had brought this most excellent, most special Xhorhasian barbarian into her life. She would worship any Stormlord and cover Zuala's plot of land with flowers to last into eternity, to be deserving of the life of happiness the two of them were about to indulge in.