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"My love, my love... Are you awake? Sweetheart, open your eyes for me..."
Liborette to woke to these words, whispered between a dozen kisses. When their eyes finally met, Haurchefant grinned at her, quickly rising from where he knealt at their bedside. It was still dark. The only light lied in the dying hearth. But Haurchefant was fully dressed, his hand in her hair chilled by the outdoors... It must have been morning. Somewhere behind the mountains, the sun was creeping up ilm by ilm, bestowing springtime (or what passed for it) upon Camp Dragonhead.
"I bring splendid news," he said. "How quickly can we get you dressed?"
Quite quickly, it seemed. Before long she was out of bed, holding her arms up as her favourite sweater was rolled over her head. He pulled her braids out the high collar and swept them into her typical half ponytail. Gone were the days he fretted over her hair's exotic texture. Now he handled it as familiarly as his own, and always kissed her on the crown once he finished.
It was constant kissing with him. If Haurchefant was not chattering away, then his lips were otherwise occupied. That morning he was quiet. The news, however splendid, was more importantly "a surprise."
One foot at a time, he helped her step into her stockings, kissing each knee as he rolled them up. As much as it tickled, she had learned not to squirm when he dressed her. Still, she laughed, because he treasured the sound of it and her heart felt too light to hold it in.
While he tied her shoes, buttoned up her coat, fussed with the vagueries of winterwear... Liborette rubbed sleep from her eyes. She wanted to wake up. If her most beloved person was awake, she ought to be, too. Daylight be damned, it was already another lovely day— made lovely by his presence alone. Finally, he kissed her knuckles, slid on her gloves, and they were out the door.
Heading... where? She would go anywhere so long as he led her by the hand. Between lovers, the body connected in myriad ways, with varying levels of ease, ecstasy, and public decency. Haurchefant taught her much and more about that. He promised to teach her everything. But in her heart she was a simple girl with simple tastes. She longed only for his hand enveloping hers. At his side, she felt small in a good way. By habit she compared the length of their strides, the size of their footsteps in the snow. Even when there was splendid news, even though she could rush to keep up, he walked slower for her. (If speed was of the essence he'd simply carry her, which she also enjoyed.)
Hand in hand, she should like to walk forever. Today they did not go far. Just inside the stables, where unswept straw crunched underfoot, Haurchefant stopped and asked her: "my love, have you ever seen a chocobo hatchling?"
Yes? Maybe? From a distance? She nodded.
His sly grin made her think that was the right answer. "Ah, but have you seen one in the first days of its life?"
No... definitely no. She shook her head.
"Then I welcome you to an experience unlike any other! Right this way, if you please..."
Of course she pleased. He bade her walk ahead of him, to have this experience unobstructed by his tall, reliable back. So long as he kept touching her one way or another— steering her by the shoulders, or— oh! Lifting her by the waist to peer into the stall? She was happy, happy, happy! And happier still at the sight of a fluffy little chick chirping at its mother's feet.
It was downy and bouncy, wobbling this way and that on brand new claws. Though she adored the golden chocobo popular in Eorzea, this black feathered breed was equally charming. When it skittered into shadows its body vanished, leaving naught but the white eggshell, suspended in air like a friendly ghost. And when the chick returned to the light, its black eyes sparkled with wonder and sweetness and hunger. It sang about everything. For such a tiny bird, it was so loud! More than that, it was cute!
"Splendid, is it not?"
"Yes!"
"Would you like to hold it?"
"Yes!"
She had forgotten Haurchefant was holding her until he set her down. Usually she mourned the absence of his hands. She'd pause to savour the warm imprints that proved he was there. Today she bounced on her toes, peeking around him while he unlatched the stall. She slipped inside through the smallest gap so the chick would not escape.
At first she thought he would join her, but he remained just outside, leaning on the wooden wall that came up to his waist. From the look in his eye, he was content with watching. The mother chocobo kweh'd with curiosity but otherwise sat still. Clearly she would be watching, too.
"Be gentle, dear heart." He knew that she sometimes forgot her strength.
How could anyone be anything but gentle with a life so precious? Nevertheless she answered with a dutiful nod, nervous and determined to get it right.
Liborette knealt in the straw and waited. Less than a minute later, the chocoboling had waddled right into her open hands. Haurchefant praised her natural affinity for animals, but she was not really listening. The chocobo absorbed all her attention. It was so soft, squirmy, and warm! So cute! A protective urge washed over her. She felt something similar when she leapt between killers and their targets, when she rescued the doomed and earned their thanks. Where there would have been a thirst for blood, she found only innocent curiosity. Somehow, the thrill of power remained.
She tipped her head back to look at Haurchefant, who had been smiling at her all along. "How old?"
"Twelve bells or so, I believe."
"So little!"
"Indeed. She weighs about two ponzes."
"A girl?"
"Correct! A baby girl chocobo."
"I love her," she blurted out.
"I would say she feels the same!"
The hatchling pecked at her clothes, chirping and chirping away. Oh, it felt so good to be loved. There was true pride in being trusted by something so fragile. Too fragile for hugs, even, so she had to carefully nuzzle their heads together. It chomped on her hair and yanked. Some part of her knew she should be upset, but neither pain or panic occurred to her. She just giggled.
Haurchefant laughed, too. "Someone seems hungry. Would you like to feed her, darling?"
"Yes!"
"Then come here and hold out your hands."
He poured some crumbly feed into her cupped palms. When she returned to the floor, the chick sniffed the pile, then gave it a tentative lick, and finally started to peck ravenously at her hands. Though she was not the one eating, the sight of this sweet, innocent creature enjoying its meal sated some hunger of hers. Mayhap that was her heart filling up, fluffing out.
"So good," she murmured.
"Aye, isn't she?"
"I love her..."
"And I..." Haurchefant considered his words. "All that you feel for this chocoboling, I feel for you. Of course there is much and more to our love. 'Tis the most profound bond we shall ever know. But, if ever you were curious, the core of it is..."
Liborette stared at him, her heart beating fast. The chick nosed around her knees. On instinct she drew it into her lap and petted through its downy feathers.
"Well, you feel it now, don't you! It rests in the palm of your hands."
Her enjoyment of its softness and littleness, its purity, was complicated by the look on Haurchefant's face. Not diminished, no, only deepened. She registered a new, nameless thrill: cousin to shyness, wrapped in desire. Still carrying the chick, she approached the stall door and stood on her tiptoes to get as close to him as she could.
"A kiss, please?"
"Aught for you, my love." He nuzzled the top of her head, then murmured into her hair, "I do adore it when you ask."
"And ask politely..."
"Once more, then?" He was teasing her, twirling her braids, because he adored the impatience she showed only to him.
A playful roll of her eyes and one deep inhale prepared her... "Please, please, please, please, ple— eep!"
He bent over the door to grab her by the waist and lift her a few fulms off the ground. Both she and the hatchling shrieked with excitement. The mother bird squawked, her watchful eyes fixed on the commotion. Yet more chocobos, roused from sleep in their own stalls, offered a kweh or two of their own. Through it all, the pair of people were laughing— Liborette much harder, because her favourite soul in all creation was kissing her again and again and again.