Ode to Love

"Eyebright." As if from nowhere. My Starward Mechanic is surrounded by serpents, their eyes red and fangs bared with hunger and malice. Now, I am surrounded here, as well. She clings to me; I can still sense her very real terror, so I waste no time. I drop my staff to the ground, adding "Sticks to Snakes" for good measure. The words whisper in my mind, like an arrow knocked "Serpent Phoenix Form." "Burnflare." Like an arrow loosed.  The field ignites, smelling like BBQ Chicken and reminding me of the significance of the central thread to any garment. "Flareburn." Like a legendary and almost illogical arrow returned, my serpent reforms in my hand, self parses into planks, and embeds back into my own form.  My Starward Mechanic, heart still pounding and hands each still gripping my chest and shoulder, finds her energy persistent, though threat removed. She simply whispers "Every threat becomes a promise." **Some time later** ...

"It's hard to imagine someone experiencing my path and not resonating to it after returning to their own." "Hmm, works for a self or an other." For the first time that I can recall, I stop at this juncture, uncertain, as if a new and mysterious balance were weighed remotely. The Equation processes until it begs a question, which I blurt on my next turn: "Does it?"