Deanez
Dean
The light had dropped lower by the time Dean started laying things out, the clearing washed in that soft, late-day gold that made Oralis Prime feel less like a training ground and more like a place people might actually stay for a while.
The Vigo rested nearby with its ramp down, quiet and inert, a solid presence at her back. Dean moved between the ship and the fire site with calm efficiency, setting things where they would be useful rather than perfect. A crate had been dragged into place for seating. A small cooking pan set within reach. Some packs were opened and sorted just enough to make sense of what they had without turning this into an inventory.
She built the fire ring slowly, choosing stones for stability over symmetry. Kindling followed, then thicker pieces stacked with care. She struck the igniter and waited, watching the flame catch and settle, feeding it until it burned clean and steady. Not rushed. Not ceremonial. Just right.
Cupcake prowled nearby, occasionally darting close to sniff at a pack or investigate the fire before retreating again, tail flicking as if she were supervising the whole operation. Dean glanced up once, a faint curve touching her mouth, then returned to her task.
She set the pan beside the fire, checked the heat with the back of her hand, then paused, straightening slightly as if reassessing the space. This wasn't something she was doing alone. It didn't need to be finished before someone arrived. The work was meant to be shared.
Dean reached back into the open ship and pulled out the last of the supplies, setting them down within easy reach, then stepped back and looked at the setup as a whole. Simple. Functional. Enough.
She brushed her hands together, then glanced toward the ship, voice calm, even, carrying easily through the clearing.
"Fire's ready," she said. Not an announcement. An invitation.
"Thought we could do the rest together."
She settled onto the crate she'd dragged over earlier, posture relaxed, eyes on the fire as it crackled and threw sparks upward into the darkening canopy. The air smelled of warm earth and smoke, and of something like a quiet promise.
Whatever the day had been, this part of it was different. And she waited, content to let it unfold at its own pace.
Rynar Solde
The Vigo rested nearby with its ramp down, quiet and inert, a solid presence at her back. Dean moved between the ship and the fire site with calm efficiency, setting things where they would be useful rather than perfect. A crate had been dragged into place for seating. A small cooking pan set within reach. Some packs were opened and sorted just enough to make sense of what they had without turning this into an inventory.
She built the fire ring slowly, choosing stones for stability over symmetry. Kindling followed, then thicker pieces stacked with care. She struck the igniter and waited, watching the flame catch and settle, feeding it until it burned clean and steady. Not rushed. Not ceremonial. Just right.
Cupcake prowled nearby, occasionally darting close to sniff at a pack or investigate the fire before retreating again, tail flicking as if she were supervising the whole operation. Dean glanced up once, a faint curve touching her mouth, then returned to her task.
She set the pan beside the fire, checked the heat with the back of her hand, then paused, straightening slightly as if reassessing the space. This wasn't something she was doing alone. It didn't need to be finished before someone arrived. The work was meant to be shared.
Dean reached back into the open ship and pulled out the last of the supplies, setting them down within easy reach, then stepped back and looked at the setup as a whole. Simple. Functional. Enough.
She brushed her hands together, then glanced toward the ship, voice calm, even, carrying easily through the clearing.
"Fire's ready," she said. Not an announcement. An invitation.
"Thought we could do the rest together."
She settled onto the crate she'd dragged over earlier, posture relaxed, eyes on the fire as it crackled and threw sparks upward into the darkening canopy. The air smelled of warm earth and smoke, and of something like a quiet promise.
Whatever the day had been, this part of it was different. And she waited, content to let it unfold at its own pace.
Rynar Solde
