Collin glanced at his left hand, which had a bandage wrapped around the stitches. He gave her what he hoped was a careless smile. "Oh, fishing accident. Man-eating leviathan in that lake, you know...”
Dragonfly laughed, her voice as light as starlight and her eyes sparkling. “I’m certainly glad you survived that ordeal.”
His heart lifted, light as air, chasing after her laughter. It tingled through his skin, blurring the ache in his hand, until all that remained was the warmth blooming in his chest. He could live forever in the brightness of her smile.
“Shall we go find something to eat? I really am starving.”
Dragonfly’s expression was impossible to read. She fixed him with her smile, but was it simple friendliness or could there be something more? After a moment, she simply said, “Sure.”
They moved slowly, savoring the warmth of the evening and each other’s nearness as they crossed to the grill. Smoke fanned lazily into the star-glazed sky, and the scent of roasting meat and sweet herbs filled the air. But Collin barely noticed the feast ahead—his attention was wholly consumed by her.
Every time Dragonfly’s arm brushed his, it sent a spark racing up his spine. When a stray ribbon of her hair swept across his forearm, it was like being struck by something incandescent—soft, electric, maddeningly fleeting. He felt weightless and oddly buoyant, as though the earth had quietly let go of him. Taller, braver, lighter somehow. As if walking beside her had rewritten the rules of gravity.
She laughed at something someone said in the distance, and the sound stitched itself into his bones.
He was standing at the edge of a rare and ephemeral path—like the way the first bloom breaks the frozen soil, or the way sunlight flickers on water just before dusk. Whatever this was, he wanted to press it into memory and keep it whole: the smell of firewood, the cool kiss of twilight, the impossible nearness of her shoulder brushing his own.
Dragonfly was following his lead. With subtle gestures, he guided her around throngs of revelers. Once they neared the grills, he scanned the length of the lines. Some had lines a mile long, but others were short and moving quickly. "What are you in the mood for?"
“I’m not sure”—she gazed around uncertainly—"I never know what I want at these gatherings.”
"I see roasted pears and apples," Collin said, craning his head to study the grills. "Mushrooms on skewers over there, and...”
“Oh, I do like fire roasted mushrooms!”
“Mushrooms it is!”
They drifted to the end of the long line. Collin didn’t mind the wait—not with her beside him. Every moment in her company settled the restless current inside him.
Farther up, he caught sight of a young woman stepping away with a full plate—elegant, composed, with hair the same rich shade as Dragonfly’s and the same tilt to her eyes. Just older. Sharper around the edges. She was laughing at something her companion whispered in her ear.
Collin felt Dragonfly brighten, then dim just as quickly. She waved, eager, hopeful—but her sister didn’t notice. Too focused on the man beside her.
Noticing the way Dragonfly’s shoulders dropped, he leaned a little closer. “Is everything alright?”
“That’s my sister, Bluejay,” she said quietly. “But that fellow...”
He tilted his head. “Her beau?”
She shook her head, then gave a vague shrug. Her expression clouded, eyes darkening with something he couldn’t name. She didn’t explain further.
Collin wished he could take whatever burden she carried and hold it for her—even if only for a while. He’d have listened for hours if she let him. Watched her mouth form the words, watched her eyes shift from stormy to still.
Why her? Why did she pull at him like this?
She was like the moon, and he, some tide-bent thing—drawn and undone by her gravity.
A loud roar jolted Collin out of his reverie.
The noise was coming from a large sandy court at the center of the vast clearing. Crowds of people were gathered around the court, shouting and cheering for the players.
"I bet Aries and Arion are having their rematch," Dragonfly said excitedly. "Come! I have to see this!”
As Dragonfly grasped his uninjured hand, his heart nearly roared, shouting the words he dared not say out loud. Her fingers closed gently around his wrist. She tugged, and he gladly followed. He would follow her anywhere.
At the center of the sand court, Aries and Arion circled each other like wolves—shoulders squared, eyes locked, muscles coiled. Their rematch had drawn a massive crowd, and the energy of it vibrated in Collin’s chest.
Discus was the pride of the mountain—a brutal, beautiful game that turned strength and precision into spectacle. Generations had grown up on it. Even the elders in the crowd were leaning forward, eager.
