#if you see me translating placebo lyrics into irish no you didn't

[vampire-exgirlfriend]

Wylla and Abby + comfort

hi i love you i needed this

The fire crackled in the hearth, casting long shadows over the stone walls and the rug they lay atop. Abby’s slender fingers picked the tangles from Wylla’s curls, the gentle motion lulling her into that place between dreaming and waking. From above her, her friend's soft, lilting voice took life.

“Beidh mé i do uisce

snámha tú glan

le síocháin leachtach.

Chonaic mé tú ag fulaingt

chonaic mé tú ag caoineadh

an oíche ar fad tríd.

Mar sin beidh mé i do uisce

snámha tú glan,

leacht gorm.”

The River Tongue was not so different from Old Tongue, and Wylla could not keep the smile from her face as she picked out the familiar words. “I’ll be your water, bathing you clean…,” she murmured in common. 

“Do you know this one?” Abby asked, brushing the hair from her forehead. 

Wylla shook her head. “Our languages were one once. They aren’t so different now.” She turned onto her side, facing the fire fully, watching as the embers hissed and popped, seeking air. “I can’t imagine how lonely it must have been sometimes, to be so young, surrounded by dragons when the rivers call to you.”

“In truth, I spent so long trying not to think of home, of what I had lost to Harrenhal. I was just glad to have a place here, where I was not alone. But I feel the call. Each time we venture to the cabin I feel the pull to the God’s Eye, to the creeks and the marshes.”

“To the waters that will bathe you clean.” Wylla’s smile faltered a bit as she tucked her hands beneath her chin. Abby pulled the blanket more securely around her shoulders. “Our blood is older even than theirs.”

“And I am less lonely with you.” She could hear the truth of it in the other girl's words. “Tell me what you miss of home.”

Wylla’s eyes burned at the memories of snow drifts taller even than her father, of the hunting and the hawking, and the magnificence of the waves breaking against the Gray Cliffs. “I miss the bite of frost at my cheeks. I miss seeing the foxes in their dens and the howl of the wolves when night lasted longer than day. The midnight sky would melt into purple and green and blue, a spill of paint. I miss the way that the land seemed to stretch on forever. It made me feel so small, but I was not afraid.”

Abby sat back, leaning against the chair behind her. “You are descended from the Winter Kings, you were never small, Wylla.”

“Did you not feel small standing before the God’s Eye as a girl?”

“No. I felt powerful, like it was mine. I felt connected to the land in a way I haven’t since.”

Wylla laughed. “Spoken like the true however many times great granddaughter of Osmund Strong.” In a softer voice, she added, “This city makes me feel small…insignificant.”

“None of that, now,” Abby chided gently. “You are the daughter of an ancient house, with the blood of Bran the Builder in your veins. And well, we all know I’m secretly a nymph,” she chuckled.

“The Fox and the Nymph," Wylla whispered, turning to glance up at her friend.

Abby laid a kiss to her fingers, pressing them to Wylla’s forehead. “I would read that story.”