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Laudna didn’t know what to do with her hair. It had never been a problem before. Her hair just kind of did its own thing; found leaves and feathers and other treasures that it would gift her with whenever she got around to brushing it. Which wasn’t often, because the brush would inevitably knock against her ear cuffs after she’d set them just so, and it would pull great hanks of it off her scalp and she’d feel like a patchwork doll someone left outside all winter.
Which, she supposed, she kind of was, but when she said as much to her companion, Imogen disagreed. And here they were, huddled together under the tarp as rain pounded down around them, with nothing to do except exist together, uncomfortably close, and look out at the storm.
Imogen was not looking out at the storm. Imogen was looking at her with her brow drawn tight, eyes flicking up and down, probably at last realizing the terrible state that Laudna has brought her into. Far from civilization, drenched and cold, with only a half-living corpse for company. If Laudna had to guess, she'd say that the last three days were likely the worst of Imogen's life.
She wasn't about to posit that as a question though. She was on thin enough ice without asking Imogen to delve into the depths of past miseries.
And Imogen still wasn't speaking. Laudna thought it had been funny, comparing herself to a doll. Funny and true, which was the best kind of funny in her opinion. But only Laudna laughed, and that was the worst kind of funny, to laugh when you're companion had hard eyes and a mouth shut like a drawbridge. And if they were going to be stuck here under the tarp together, brushing her hair was the very least Laudna could do, so as not to litter the bedroll with pine needles and twigs.
That is, if she had to be under the tarp at all.
“I could sit at the edge of the tarp, if you would like. Or- or I could find some brush to crawl under! It’s alright if I get a little wet; it’s not like I can get any colder.”
The furrow in Imogen’s brow deepened. A drawbridge barricaded with iron, in a castle under siege. Impassible.
“What makes you think I don’t want you next to me?” asked Imogen, very slowly, like she was pulling iron from the door.
“Well, you asked if you could brush my hair, and you’ve been silent since I warned you that it might fall out, and I know it’s disgusting, so I thought—”
“It’s not disgusting.” Imogen’s expression did not change, and Laudna could not wilt any further beneath it without beginning to dig a hole.
“You’re not disgusting.”
Laudna shrugged. Stacked against all the evidence collected over the past twenty eight years of undeath, Imogen’s opinion amounted to very little, even with the great weight of Laudna’s regard for her.
“Do you ever think of braiding it? To protect it a little better?”
Laudna could not help the convulsion that wracked her entire body. “No.” She wore a braid once, and tore it out screaming after she was improperly revived. She shoved that thought deep inside her mind before it could spill over and hurt Imogen and fixed a grit toothed smile overtop of it. “I don’t know how to braid hair anyway.”
“Do you want to learn?”
“No.” The word came out rough. She coughed and rung her neck with a hand and fixed her voice to sound better. “No thank you, dear. We’ve stayed up late enough already. Can I tuck you in?”
Imogen breathed a long sigh and Laudna froze in place because she’d said the wrong thing again, and Laudna couldn’t stop saying the wrong things. Everything about her was wrong and no amount of practice with Pate could account for how bad she was at speaking to a real living person.
“Laudna?” Imogen gave her a tender smile. “You’re doing good. You’re not bad at this.”
Laudna shook her head. “Do I smell?” She lifted a hank of hair off her shoulder and tore a twig from it. Imogen winced as it ripped away and Laudna scooted back to the very edge of the tarp. Great fat drops of rain dripped down her back.
“No!” Imogen yanked her into the center of their little makeshift shelter and Laudna’s wrists popped out of place. “Oh gods, I’m sorry, Laudna, I’m so sorry, no you don’t smell, and I’m sorry I made you think you did.” She ran her warm fingers over Laudna’s frigid wrists to massage the disobedient bones back into place. “I think I’m the one who’s bad at this, all my words keep getting stuck in my teeth and I’m sayin’ all the wrong things—”
“Of course not. You’re very capable.”
“Stay.” She frowned at the command she issued, screwed her mouth up tight, and exhaled. “Please stay close to me?”
“But I’m cold, and wet, and creepy.”
Imogen pulled the wet out of Laudna’s clothes with her clever sparking magic and tossed it out to join the rest of the rain. “Not wet anymore. And not creepy. Not to me.”
“Cold,” she reminded. “With dirty hair that will make a mess of your bedroll.”
Imogen huffed. “I can comb your hair, if you let me. And I don’t care if you never comb it, I just don’t want to lose you.” She cupped Laudna’s hands in her own and looked deep into her eyes. “This is important. I know we’ve only had a few days together, but don’t you feel it? Its like, when I met you, I remembered what hope feels like.”
Black tears welled in Laudna’s eyes and she blinked them away, swallowed them down, and no matter how badly she wanted something better for Imogen, she felt it, too. “You can comb my hair,” she rasped around tears. “But I’ll keep making a mess of things.”
Imogen grinned like the sun breaking through the clouds. “That’s fine by me. What was it you called me? Capable?”
Laudna mouthed the word as it left Imogen’s lips.
“Yeah.” Imogen shrugged as she confirmed it. “Capable. I like it. We might be messes, but I think together, we’ll clean up real nice.”