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When Hornet awoke, lying face down on a field of white petals, surrounded by tendrils of inky black darkness, her only hope was to make it out of there alive. She’d made it out of worse, but still, the void tendrils—for there was no doubt of what they were—gave cause for concern. Her memories of the trap trickled into her mind, her memories of Grand Mother Silk grabbing her, holding her in her smooth metal claws, and…
Lace, darting in to save her, clinging to her mother and falling together into the darkness of the void. It was a haunting sight.
Still, Hornet got back on her feet, as she always did.
She struggled and fought against creatures stained by the void, minds consumed, echoing the infection that plighted Hallownest so many years ago. It made the fur of her shell stand on edge, the familiarity. It was unnerving.
She made it out of the cradle, landing in the wrecked halls of the Citadel’s choral chambers. She continued forwards but felt her legs give out, knocking her to the cold ground. Shivers ran through her shell, she shuddered and her body hit the floor hard. She was roused back to consciousness in half-defeated Songclave by the grace of the small pilgrim Sherma. His song gave her a hint of comfort.
Her questioning settled her worst fear, that the void affected not just the Citadel, but all of Pharloom. A pit in her stomach grew, swirling and growling, snapping like a mad dog.
She continued on, intending to visit the Snail Shamans to have a very harsh word with them, but on her way to Bone Bottom she found the Bellbeast missing, in place a vile creature called the Belleater. She knew not why it had appeared, but as it threatened her dear Bellbeast, she attacked it without remorse or hesitation.
It was no easy feat, but she was rewarded with her companion safe and sound, and it brought with it small creatures, little things that looked just like their mother. It warmed Hornet’s heart, though by now she had other things pressing on her mind.
She had made it out alive, and traversing the bellways, she had many chances to see the ruin she had wrought on Pharloom.
Tentacles and darkness stained the ground, threads of black holding bugs down as they struggled endlessly against the icy power of void. Bugs chained by the haunting found new enslavement and power by way of projectiles that stung Hornet’s shell and drained the land of color, with roars that shook the earth and sky alike.
She knew it was her own fault, she knew she had fallen to the Snail Shamans’ trick. She did not hold back her frustration upon visiting the cowardly bugs. They talked on and on about the void, their grand plan and their half-realized apologies for tricking Hornet. But that all was pushed aside as soon as she had her next goal, the abyss waiting below.
She should have dove headfirst into the belly of Pharloom, saved its inhabitants from her cruel mistake. But she had something else on her mind, something that stirred warmth in her chest and caused anxiety to flood through her heart. Someone, more so.
She wanted to see Shakra.
Shakra, who was in Bellhart, humming her lovely song and drawing her maps. Who was a warrior of such strength, Hornet had not defeated her in a spar, despite her many attempts. Shakra, whose search for her master was fulfilled, her days left aimless to wander Pharloom’s caverns.
Shakra, who Hornet prayed to a God she didn’t believe in, was okay.
Hornet leapt off the Bellbeast and dashed out of the station, squashing her guilt deep in her shell in preparation to see Shakra. She was glad to see Bellhart had not completely fallen, though the mayor looked understandably dejected. Black barbed threads threatened the town, pulsing and lingering ominously on every street, but they remained at peace for the time being. A quick look around ensured the residents were alright, but a crucial one was missing.
She was informed by the wilted Pavo that Shakra had taken to defending the town from the onslaught of void bugs, so Hornet dashed out towards Greymoor without a second thought.
Her heart raced with anticipation, pounding in her chest like a drum. What scene would greet her, Shakra stilled on the ground, body soaked by the continuous downpours of Greymoor? She banished the thought from her mind, surely not. Still, her head spun with anxiety.
When Hornet stepped into the cobblestone streets, she immediately saw the shock of gold that blessed her weary eyes. Shakra stood strong in the clearing, armor shining and contrasting with the desaturated blues of Greymoor. Her muscular arms were raised in a fighting stance, and her throwing rings were strewn about, finding homes in the shells of deceased bugs. Her face bore a determined expression, she looked focused enough to slay a bug with her gaze alone.
Hornet barely recognized the sound of her strangled voice crying out.
“Shakra!” she heard herself shout. Shakra whirled around, stance growing agitated before realizing who was calling to her. She locked eyes with Hornet and immediately her tail began swishing rapidly back and forth, body relaxing from the familiar stance of combat.
“Hornet-Wielding-Needle!” Shakra called, relief dancing through her voice. Hornet could almost cry.
As she approached Shakra, Hornet slowed herself to an awkward stop in front of the bug, unsure if she would accept the affection of an embrace. Something flickered in Shakra’s eyes that looked almost dismayed, but it was swiftly replaced with relief once again. She crouched to Hornet’s eye level as she often had before.
“It is with great joy I find you safe in the midst of this chaos, Shakra,” Hornet said, trying to keep her voice from sounding too fond. Her heart was still pounding, she was okay. Shakra was safe. It seemed almost foolish to think otherwise, the strong warrior that she was.
“And you as well, Red Lady,” Shakra responded quietly, gazing upon Hornet softly. She was relieved, Hornet realized. She still found it difficult to believe that someone so strong, so kind and beautiful and lovely, could feel anything but animosity towards her.
Shakra’s expression hardened suddenly, looking around before returning her gaze to Hornet.
“Have you any idea of the calamity that wreaks havoc upon this land?” she asked, voice harsher, more serious.
Hornet’s insides twisted, like a parasite, like a worm. And this is where it all unravels. Her gaze turned downwards, unable to face Shakra.
“Yes, I myself bear blame for the fate of Pharloom,” she said quietly. Her voice echoed through the silent streets. “Nonetheless, I seek to resolve and end it.”
She could not say with certainty how Shakra would respond, but she feared it all the same. She knew, however, the warrior would not take this lightly.
The fate of a whole kingdom, determined by Hornet’s foolish trust in a stranger. She herself would find little forgiveness for one so idiotic, she knew Shakra would be hard pressed to do the same. She only hoped the conflict could be resolved without violence, she was unsure if she could find it in herself to lay harm upon Shakra’s shell.
The silence hung heavy in the air, but Shakra surprised Hornet by nodding solemnly and meeting her gaze with understanding in her eyes. Hornet could not quite believe it. Was it a ruse, something to lower her guard before Shakra unleashed the might of her attacks onto her?
No, this was genuine. Hornet’s heartstrings were pulled by the pit of guilt that still stirred deep in her shell.
“Do you not despise me for my part in this cataclysm, Shakra?” she asked, voice breaking. Shakra was smart, unbelievably competent and clever. There was not a sliver of a chance that she could simply ignore Hornet’s faults, especially when they were this egregious. The dooming of an entire kingdom, for the Gods’ sakes.
The guilt threatened to swallow her whole every passing minute, it was only with years of practice that she locked it away long enough to focus on her mission. Still, it stirred and rumbled in her gut, causing her claws to quake and her legs to lose their stability where she stood. Shakra took notice, placing her claws on Hornet’s shoulders to steady her. She gazed at Hornet so softly, so very softly. Hornet nearly forgot how to breathe.
“I know you, young one. You’re clever, resilient. This would not be done with intent. You were tricked or coerced, I imagine. And for that I could never blame you. I admire your resolve, Red Lady, to free this kingdom from the clutches of darkness is a noble task.”
The confidence with which she said it almost shattered Hornet where she stood. She was not blamed, she was not guilty, in Shakra’s eyes. Only understood, cared for. She could not expect such mercy in a million years, yet it was looking her in the eye, gazing at her softly.
Hornet nearly began to cry for the kindness. She turned her gaze to the ground, calming herself by watching the raindrops fall on the cobblestone streets.
Until she heard a soft clinking of metal, felt one of Shakra’s claws shift from her shoulder to her chin, coaxing her head upwards. Hornet allowed her head to be tilted up, slowly, agonizingly, to look at Shakra.
“I know the bugs of Pharloom can depend on you,” she said quietly, holding Hornet’s face so tenderly, so gently that Hornet thought she would shatter. She was so close. Hornet’s insides fluttered.
She almost choked trying to get her words out. “I– th’thank you, Shakra,” Hornet croaked. Shakra’s eyes turned just slightly amused before releasing Hornet from her grasp, both shoulder and chin. Hornet absently rubbed at the spot on her face where Shakra held her.
“Do be cautious, young one. These lands are more treacherous than ever,” Shakra said, standing to her full height again and gazing into the distance, scouting for more attackers.
“You as well, Shakra. I know your shell is sturdy, but these darkened bugs pose a threat to even the most hardened of warriors,” Hornet said, looking up at Shakra, her cloak billowing in the wind. Shakra scoffed lightly.
“I gladly accept the challenge,” she said with an edge to her voice and a wicked shine in her eyes. Hornet loved hearing her like that, competitive and frighteningly lethal. It made something stir in her chest, something curious she would rather avoid putting a name to (though she knew it well.)
She wished so badly to linger in the presence of familiar company, to aid in battle, to speak with Shakra. Hear her deep voice bubble over in laughter, talk with her kindly, tease her and whisper sweet nothings to her. But she had work to do, work that permitted no time for such fantasies.
As a farewell, Hornet took the throwing rings Shakra had gifted her and clinked them together with a resounding metallic sound. “Poshanka!” she cried, meeting Shakra’s eye with a shine in her own.
Shakra grinned and returned the gesture with a clang of her own rings, and a cry to follow, her deep voice echoing through Greymoor’s hollow streets. “Poshanka!”
And with a final nod, Hornet dashed back towards Bellhart, readying herself to face the abyss waiting below.
=======
The suffocating heat of the lava that chased her still lingered through Hornet’s core, bubbling and sizzling within her. The edges of her cloak had been singed black, and the fur of her shell was the same. She never cared much for overly warm climates, so she was quite happy to escape the chokingly hot lava that hunted her through tight tunnels and caverns. Nonetheless, she had made it out alive, with new goals on her weary mind.
Hunting the three hearts of Pharloom was her next task, and a hefty one at that. She knew the hearts would never be given freely, combat was expected and she must be prepared. Her needle could use sharpening, her skills honing. Training was necessary, and Hornet knew she should have started immediately, but an itching feeling kept her from her mission. The very same feeling that she’d been avoiding since she first laid eyes upon Shakra.
Shakra.
Kind, sweet, lethal and beautiful. Shakra. Her stomach bubbled with a heat other than the lava that had trailed her, a softer heat. It was curious and fluttery, and achingly familiar, like a wound that refused to shut.
She needed to check on Shakra, give her fair greetings, perhaps relieve her of her duties for a while. It was Hornet’s fault she held watch over Bellhart, it should be Hornet’s responsibility, for a while at least.
Or perhaps they could stand watch together, claw in claw, never to quail for the other was always close.
Hornet shook the thoughts out of her head with a scowl. She needed to ensure Shakra’s safety, not… fantasize about things that were fated never to be.
Arriving in Bellhart she greeted Pavo, still wilted, and began to question the whereabouts of Shakra. Before she could finish speaking, he pointed dejectedly to Greymoor.
Hornet dashed towards the storming city, eager to see Shakra yet again. Perhaps she could embrace her this time, be welcomed into her warm arms and press her face against her shell in its golden warmth.
Hornet stepped into the rain of Greymoor and was slightly unnerved that she couldn’t immediately see the shine of Shakra’s shell. Perhaps Pavo was wrong, and she was defending some other part of the town? It was not uncommon for her to rotate between Shellwood and Greymoor, taking rests in between.
Hornet slowed to a walk and looked around, eyes glancing over the rotted wood and hanging chains that decorated the city. It was all familiarly grey.
Her wandering eyes caught on something unmoving on the ground. It was golden, long, and recognizable instantly.
No.
Hornet’s breath caught in her throat. She rushed to the spot where Shakra lay, finding her breath scarce and her body soaked with the relentless rains that stained the city.
Furthermore, tendrils of black void threatened to curl around Shakra’s limbs, crawling over her arms and legs like vines. The black threads crept over her golden shell, trying to dig into it, to string her like a puppet. Hornet’s breathing became uneven.
“No, no, no no no,” Hornet said, voice breaking. Her claws hovered over Shakra’s body, shaking like an earthquake. She hadn’t an idea what to do.
Hornet would never find herself panicking in a situation like this, she was calm and collected, quick with a plan. There was always a way out, always something to be acted upon.
Not this time.
She remained staring, frozen, for far too long. Her breathing never settled, her thoughts never calmed. She repeated, “No, no, no, no no no no no,” like a chant, like a prayer. Pleading for something to happen, for Shakra to rise and proclaim it was a cruel joke, something, anything.
The roar of the earth and the unyielding convulsing of the ground beneath her brought Hornet back to herself. Nobody was coming to save her, she had claws for a reason. Her eyes shimmered with fresh determination, gaze shifting to see several corpses being strung through with the strings of ink, reanimating with a new vigor. Their eyes all moved to Shakra on the ground. Hornet’s stomach grew hollow.
The bugs crept towards her, eyes filled with the darkness of the abyss. Fear shot through Hornet, but it was not overpowered by her newfound resilience.
“No, no,” Hornet repeated, covering Shakra’s curled up body with her own. “No, stay back! Stay away from her,” she growled, raising her needle to the bugs. They didn’t react to the threat, their minds were gone, filled of void. They continued shambling towards her.
Hornet took Shakra’s body, managing to hold her in a bridal carry, though her long legs and tail dragged on the cold cobblestone of Greymoor, and the position was surely not comfortable. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Hornet whispered to her. She didn’t respond.
Hornet was hardly strong enough to keep Shakra in her arms, but she summoned every bit of vigor in her small shell to get the muscled warrior to safety. Gods, she was pathetic, barely capable of bringing Shakra just a short difference. Hornet ignored the guilt and self-hate that brewed in her mind, it could be dealt with later.
The bugs were approaching fast, too fast for her to make it to Bellhart in time. Her eyes darted between the bugs, thinking of a plan. Nothing sprung to her mind.
As the void-sick bugs approached, Hornet’s eyes narrowed, focusing on something, though she was unsure what. It was like a sixth sense, a new limb. She tugged on it, whatever it was. Her shell surged with energy, frantic and loud.
“Stay back,” she growled in a low voice. Silk began whirling around her. The bugs paid no mind, continuing to limp towards her.
A claw lunged towards Shakra’s body in her arms, a claw strung through with black, ready to hurt her. Ready to kill her, leave her corpse to be taken by void, merciless and cruel. Hornet wouldn’t let that happen.
“I said, stay back!” she roared, her voice layering and amplifying through the space. A stronger tug on the alien limb, a pull, and a storm of silk began to whirl around her, lunging forwards in glittering strands which circled her attackers. The silk spun around them, spinning into cocoons that rendered the bugs immobile.
It drowned out their cries as it finished its task, leaving nothing but white-strung coffins in its wake. Hornet breathed heavily. For a moment, everything was silent and still.
The question of how she had accomplished such a task with such little silk in her shell was a mystery, but one beyond her care at this point. Shakra needed her. So she continued.
She practically dragged Shakra through the entrance to Bellhart, eliciting a gasp from the remaining citizens.
“Fetch Pill and Tipp, now” she said, knowing she could not carry Shakra further on her own. Pavo had begun shaking as he ran off to find the brothers.
The couriers aided her in lifting the unconscious Shakra to the door of Hornet’s Bellhome. They looked concerned for her, but something in Hornet’s gaze and franticness deterred them from interference. Good, Hornet worked better alone.
She quickly threw open the door and gingerly laid Shakra on her bed. The dirt and grime that stained her shell soaked through the bedding, but Hornet couldn’t care less.
She drew water from her bath to clean the dirt from Shakra’s shell, taking a spare rag to gently cleanse her of the filth. Hornet scrubbed carefully, softly, almost caressing her. She delicately wiped the side of Shakra’s face, freeing her of grime.
The next step was clear. Hornet bound the visible gashes with her silk, tying it far more carefully than she did on her own wounds. She was meticulous, careful, as if working with fragile moth wings rather than her strengthened silk. Every time Shakra flinched or winced at her touch, another piece of Hornet’s heart chipped away.
Shakra was already in better shape, but her breathing remained labored. She lingered on the edge of life, balancing, but just barely. Hornet tried to quell her panic.
Out of immediate ideas, she dug through her pouch of supplies. There must be something to help, to heal. Something to save her.
Hornet’s hope of salvation faded as she dug through the bag, until her claws clinked together with something cool, smooth, and rounded. She pulled out the vial of plasmium, glowing blue, still full. Hornet had seen the nature of such a substance and would rather avoid using it on herself, but she knew it provided a sort of temporary lifeblood, potentially useful in such a situation as this.
Still, she hesitated. Such a thing would not injure her, another benefit of her unique heritage, but Shakra was mortal. If she met her fate by Hornet’s own claw, she could never forgive herself. But she saw no other option.
Hornet readied the vial with shaking claws, attempting to harden herself for the task to come. The needle was sharp enough to pierce her own shell, it surely wouldn’t fail Shakra. She brought it up, hesitating for just a second. She looked down at Shakra, lying defenseless on the bed. Her gaze lingered before she squeezed her eyes shut. Then she plunged the needle into Shakra.
Her shell cracked loudly as the needle dug into it, injecting the plasmium deep into her body. It pierced her shell with such ease as cutting through cloth. Hornet opened her eyes.
Shakra twitched, once, twice. And then she cried out, a deep sound that shattered Hornet’s heart into a hundred pieces. It was unlike anything she’d ever heard, it was agony in its purest form.
The plasmium was injected, and Hornet withdrew, leaving a gaping wound in Shakra’s shell that glowed faintly blue. The needle clattered to the floor and Hornet swiftly wrapped more silk around the damage, taking care not to further injure Shakra.
Suddenly, Shakra’s body began shaking. Her claws curled into fists, her brow creasing in pain. Hornet’s blood ran cold.
Plasmium was not feeble in its effects, some consequences were to be expected with its use. But to see Shakra in pain, whimpering and shuddering on the bed, helpless and weak, it was almost too much to bear. Hornet dug the nails of her claws into her palm.
The fool she was, allowing Shakra to become injured in such a way in the first place. She should have stayed with her, ensured she rest more often, helped her rather than running around the kingdom like a madwoman. Hornet felt her claw pierce the shell of her palm. She only clenched her fist harder.
All she could do was wait. Her many years of life had gifted her the virtue of patience. It was a doable task, waiting.
But Gods, not with this. Not when it came to Shakra’s safety, to Shakra’s life. With anything regarding Shakra, she found herself acting differently, overly talkative or not enough so, too honest or dishonest, too strange.
She knew why. She’d be a fool not to by now, it wasn’t her first time with the experience. But she could not recall feeling it as fiercely as she did now. It burned in her chest, bubbled through her limbs and loosened her tongue. It was in every part of every interaction with Shakra, whispering in the back of her mind, reaching towards her with open claws and beckoning her to stay.
She knew her fate with such things. She knew it was a fool’s errand.
But with Shakra, she wouldn’t mind being a fool.
She hoped with all her heart that Shakra awoke to let her be a fool.
Shakra stirred slightly, fidgeting where she lay, brow creased. Hornet, shaken out of her thoughts, hovered closer, tentatively reaching a claw to her face. She made contact, mind whirling, stroking her cheek and whispering to her earnestly.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Please, just stay with me, I’m sorry.”
Shakra whined, her brow relaxed just slightly. Still, she shook like a leaf. Her face was carefully cradled in Hornet’s claws. The spider was shaking now, heart beating like a drum in erratic patterns, her insides cold and twisting.
She was so very afraid.
If her plan failed, if Shakra slipped away from her now, she could never forgive herself. She wouldn’t let it happen, she couldn’t. She would fight tooth and nail, claw and needle to keep her safe. She would end the world a hundred times over to see Shakra alive and breathing.
“Please,” she said, almost inaudibly. A tear slipped from her eye, the first one in years, decades.
A wheezing exhale, and Shakra’s eyes fluttered open. They were hazey, clouded. Something in Hornet’s chest was released, like a bird from a cage.
“Hornet?” she rasped. Hornet’s eyes widened.
“Shakra!” she cried, throwing her arms around Shakra in an embrace. She clung to her like the void tendrils could still pull her away, could still grasp at her legs and arms and pull her into the nothingness. She didn’t want to let go, holding on for an embarrassing amount of time. Shakra didn’t stop her.
When Hornet finally pulled away, her eyes were wet, the single tear turning into many that streamed down her face like waterfalls.
“Never put yourself in danger like that again, Shakra, I beg! I could not bear to see your lifeless body be threatened by the black threads that haunt the world, for your shell to lack its golden sheen,” she cried, clutching Shakra’s face tightly, urgently. She took a breath, calming just slightly. Her voice quieted, though still it trembled.
“I plead with you, be cautious, Shakra. If not for your sake, then for mine.”
Shakra’s eyes had regained their shine, and they were gazing upon Hornet like she had hung the stars in the night sky.
“Hornet,” she said softly, voice like velvet. Hornet couldn’t bear the sweetness woven into every letter of the word, so she took Shakra in an embrace once more, grasping for her desperately. She held her as if she would fade away in front of her eyes, disappear as if she were a phantom, a memory.
Hornet stroked the back of her neck, felt the bristles of her shell between her fingers. It was like glimpsing heaven.
“Hornet,” Shakra repeated weakly. Hornet withdrew from the embrace, ready to hear whatever Shakra had to say to her. She would tear Pharloom asunder if Shakra asked of it.
“Yes, yes, what is it? Speak now, anything, everything, I’d do it all,” she said urgently, again cupping Shakra’s face in her claws. Shakra didn’t stop looking at her like that, like she was the only thing of worth in the world. It was quite a sensation, to be looked at like that by someone so beautiful. Hornet couldn’t still her fluttering heart.
Shakra’s eyes stayed latched onto the spider as she spoke in her velvet-soft voice to Hornet.
“I love you,” she murmured.
Time stopped. Hornet heard her breath alongside Shakra’s, heard the quiet rustle of the bedsheets beneath them, the faint buzz of the glowlights that hung over their heads.
Shakra loved her.
She almost could not believe it. This was a dream, an illusion, something procured by her weakened mind to comfort her as Shakra lay dead beside her. But there she was, awake and breathing, uttering the three words that Hornet was sure she would never hear again.
Coming from Shakra, who she adored. Shakra, who was strong and kind and so beautiful it made Hornet’s heart stutter in her chest. Shakra, who she loved so much, so very much, that she didn’t know how to express it. Now she did.
“I love you too.”
And she closed the small gap between them, kissing Shakra soundly. The cartographer leaned into it, making little sounds of pleasure that made Hornet burn for more.
They separated, and Hornet couldn’t stop giggling, almost hysterically. Likewise, Shakra couldn’t stop looking at her like that, like she was a being spun from pure gold. It was surreal. It was maddeningly wonderful.
“Gods, I thought you were gone, Shakra,” she said. “I feared I’d hear your funeral knell resounding from Bellhart’s walls, I–”
“Shhh,” Shakra interrupted weakly, reaching a claw to her face to shush Hornet. It was endlessly endearing. “I’m alright, it’s alright.” Hornet laughed in disbelief, squeezing Shakra’s face with the claws that still cradled it.
A moment of staring into each others’ eyes, then a question, asked earnestly.
“Well,” Hornet said shakily. “What now?”
A pause. Shakra chuckled, low and sweet. “I don’t believe I’ll return to battle anytime soon, despite my wish to.”
Hornet hummed thoughtfully. “Yes, rest is needed for your wounds to heal properly. I shall overlook it,” she decided, finally taking her claws from Shakra’s face and moving to her tool pouch to search for more healing items.
“My noble protector,” Shakra teased through a stretch. She winced, likely aggravating one of her wounds. Hornet couldn’t stop herself from purring at the title, the low sound rumbling in her chest.
“Yes, yes,” she said absently, tucking her face in her cloak’s collar to hide the blush that settled upon it. Hornet, to her frustration, found no suitable items in her bag, so she turned back to Shakra. She was still gazing softly at Hornet, she hadn’t taken her eyes off of her since she awoke. The warmth in Hornet’s face only intensified.
“Come,” Shakra beckoned, her eyes fluttering as she relaxed onto the bed. Like a siren’s call, she invited, and Hornet was caught like a fish on a hook.
“What do you wish?” she asked, approaching Shakra on the bed. Hornet’s claw stroked Shakra’s cheek, and the latter hummed softly.
“Lay with me… “ Shakra murmured, drifting off. Hornet’s heart ached.
“Of course,” she responded as she climbed next to Shakra, continuing to brush the side of her face with her claw. Shakra sighed, wrapping an arm around Hornet.
She pressed her body close to Shakra's, taking care to avoid injured spots, but ensuring the most contact possible. Her touch was like fire, burning hot, but not in the way that Hornet despised. She yearned for more, yearned to feel Shakra’s claws over every part of her body.
Hornet could’ve kicked herself. Now is not the time for fantasies!
Shakra exhaled contentedly as Hornet dug deeper against her shell. Hornet could have gone even further, she could’ve squirmed her way into Shakra’s innards and cuddled in with her organs. Even that wouldn’t be close enough to her.
“Thank you,” Shakra said quietly., snapping Hornet out of her thoughts. She blinked.
“For what?”
Shakra huffed a laugh, voice scratching in her throat.
“For saving my life.”
Hornet’s brow furrowed.
“It was a given,” she replied. “Any world where I left you to die was a world I would gladly destroy with my claws alone. There is no universe in which I abandon you, and as I lay here beside you, there never will be.”
Shakra didn’t speak for a moment, before she buried her face under Hornet’s jaw. She hummed her response against the spider’s neck, chuckling slightly.
“Save your poetry, Hornet. It was a simple display of gratitude.”
“And I speak no extravagant poem, only the words in my heart and mind that ring true”
“Then calm your mind, and your beating heart too!” Shakra said. Hornet grumbled something inaudible. Shakra sighed, her breath tickling Hornet’s neck. Hornet shivered.
“Rest now, hunter in red. The Gods know you need it,” she said with a smile Hornet could hear in her voice. She huffed.
“Of the two of us, it was not I who faced death today,” she grumbled, taking hold of Shakra’s claw and playing with her fingers, caressing them and taking care to avoid the bruises. Her eyes softened as she watched Shakra’s fingers go slack at her touch, enabling her fidgeting.
“You will soon if you don’t accept my damned gratitude,” Shakra said, leaning close to Hornet’s face, her breath tickling her cheek. It wasn’t even a real threat, simply a tease, but Hornet’s heart stuttered nonetheless. She groaned, flushing red.
“Fine, you are welcome,” she said stubbornly. The cartographer giggled, which turned into a coughing fit.
“Are you a warrior or a petulant child?” Shakra laughed in between coughs. Hornet squeezed her claw for comfort.
“I am tired,” she responded softly. “As are you. Let us sleep now, we shall speak in the morning. Good night, Shakra.”
Shakra hummed and grasped Hornet’s claw with the one she had been toying with. “Good night, beloved.”
Hornet’s face burned hot. Beloved? Like the Sentinel of the Citadel, Hornet short-circuited, losing the ability to think coherently for just a moment. When she regained her thoughts, she desperately wanted to ask about the pet name. But moreso, she wanted Shakra to rest, which she knew needed silence. It was bait, she realized, something to make Hornet stay up and talk longer. She yearned to, but she knew sleep was necessary. It was something to discuss in the morning, as she had said. She refused to fall for Shakra’s trap, however well set.
But Hornet’s mind was spinning with the moniker, taking it and running with it. Flashes of fantasies spilled through her mind, of holding claws, and kissing, and cuddling, and talking, and kissing, and dancing ,and kissing, and–
She shook the thoughts off as her face burned hotter. Not tonight. Tomorrow. Tomorrow they could discuss it. Do more than discuss, she hoped.
As for tonight, Shakra cuddled closer to Hornet and exhaled, breath warm on Hornet’s shell. She shivered, eyes drifting shut and body relaxing at last.
Shakra’s repetitive breath on her neck soothed her, helping lull her to sleep in the shared bed. Hornet tended to avoid sleep, as it was unnecessary for one of her heritage. The wyrm blood meant she could last months without it, which she tended to stretch to a year or so.
With this in mind, she relaxed, remembering the old habit of falling into slumber. Her thoughts began fading out, then her mind fuzzed over, and then there was nothing but Shakra in her head, safe and warm, and holding her tight.