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[indent][indent][indent][indent][justify][color=808080]Smiling at Rae, Nelly replied, [color=#f1724b]“Hey, at least with this one you can take your time. I wish I could help, but all of that running really didn't help me since I drank a lot last night. It's a wonder I managed to win our group because I kept getting dizzy.  Besides,”[/color] she added, nodding toward Zelia, [color=#f1724b]“Zelia here is in way better condition than me.  I wish you the best, Rae.  By the way, since you're both new, the Main Hall pretty much serves whatever you want.  I want to check something before I take a bath and get something to eat. I am famished.  If either of you has any questions about camp in general, feel free to ask me, and I'll try to help as best as I can. Toodles!”[/color]

With that, Nelly walked away, going down the steps and exiting the arena.

Rae stood blinking, her mind still processing Nelly’s expansive monologue with a perceptible lag. The concepts arrived in a jumble: victory in their group, a night of drinking, dizziness, baths, food, and the Main Hall.

[color=#3b9ae1]"Uh, yeah. Thanks,"[/color] Rae managed, lifting a hand in a belated half-wave just as Nelly had turned away. [color=#3b9ae1]"Good luck with… whatever you’re–"[/color]

But Nelly was already gone, her vibrant energy receding like the afterglow of a firework, leaving Rae with her unfinished sentence and a head still spinning from the verbal whirlwind. She slowly lowered her hand, exhaling through her nose. 

Well, that was…an experience. 

Zelia lifted her hand to wave, a little late, fingers fluttering in the space Nelly had already abandoned. She blinked once. Then twice. The redhead’s bright colors retreated down the steps like a living spark of magnesium, vivid and flickering until the arena swallowed her up, leaving only the echo of motion behind. Zelia stood there a heartbeat longer than necessary, watching the last glint of that energy vanish, her expression caught somewhere between amusement and gentle bewilderment.

Then she turned. Rae was already shifting back toward the course, and something fluttered in her chest. [color=EBCEED]“Oh—”[/color] Zelia breathed, the sound soft but urgent, realization blooming too late. She gathered herself in a quick, instinctive motion as she hurried after her.

Which was when Zelia’s hand closed around her wrist, Rae starting in response from the sudden, vivid shock of the contact. It was warm. Certain. It left her feeling strangely exposed.

Her gaze dropped to their joined hands. 

Then lifted. 

[color=EBCEED]“Hey,”[/color] Zelia said, her voice low and clear. [color=EBCEED]“You don’t have to race to the finish this time. Just…”[/color] Her thumb brushed lightly against the inside of Rae’s wrist, a steadying stroke over her frantic pulse. [color=EBCEED]“Just finish it. Take every minute you need. No one gets to decide what your pace means.”[/color] Her smile then was effortless, bright and genuine as the sun beating down on them.

Rae swallowed, her throat tight. 

[color=#3b9ae1]"I know,"[/color] she murmured, her voice rough but gradually firming. [color=#3b9ae1]"I’m not…trying to be fast anymore. I won’t."[/color]

[color=EBCEED]"I’ll be right here,"[/color] Zelia added, as if passing her a lit lantern to carry into the dark. [color=EBCEED]"Cheering for every step. Even the small ones. [i]Especially[/i] those, that’s what friends do."[/color]

[i]Friends[/i]. The word landed softly, a quiet truth. That’s what they were.

Rae nodded, a slow dip of her chin, and after a moment, Zelia released her grip. The warmth lingered in Rae’s skin, a phantom heat nestled in her fingertips—an extra warmth she didn’t pause to examine even though she was usually the one generating it. She turned and faced the course. This time, she walked, not jogged, back to the starting line.

The tires lay ahead, identical and unforgiving in their neat, mocking row. They looked different now that she was standing still long enough to really see them. She remembered the blind panic of her first attempt, the way her feet had tangled the moment she rushed, how her frantic body had tried to outrun a mind that hadn’t finished forming a plan.

Rae took a final, calming breath and stepped into the first tire. This time, she did not lunge. She placed one foot carefully into the center, testing the rubber’s give, then shifted her weight with deliberate control before bringing her other foot through. It was awkward. It was painstakingly slow. Her shoe clipped the edge once, and she muttered a curse, adjusted her balance, and moved on.

Zelia stayed where she was at first, hands knotted together in front of her as Rae stepped into the tires again. She chewed on her bottom lip, the habit unconscious and telling, eyes tracking every careful placement of Rae’s feet. The panic wasn’t there this time, Zelia could see that much, but the effort was. The slowness. The concentration. Each step looked like a negotiation Rae was having with gravity and memory and exhaustion all at once. Zelia’s chest tightened with something like reverence and anxiety braided together. She trusted Rae, she truly did, but watching her do this alone still felt wrong, like standing on the shore while someone else waded into cold water without a hand to steady them.

She shifted her weight, restless. She could stay here. She [i]should[/i] stay here. This was what spectators did: watch, cheer, hold their breath from a distance. That would be normal. That would be easy.

But something in her kept pulling forward, tugging at her sternum like a tide she didn’t quite understand. The memory of Rae’s wrist under her palm flashed hot and immediate. The way Rae had walked back to the start line alone— quiet, resolute, carrying more than she should have had to. Zelia swallowed, heart thrumming too loud in her ears.

And then, River’s voice, replaying itself with infuriating clarity.

[i][color=#86a8ad]You won’t be timed.
It isn’t about speed. 
You’re welcome to help each other.[/color][/i]

The realization hit her so hard she actually smacked her own forehead with the heel of her hand. [color=EBCEED]“Oh my god— err…gods,”[/color] she muttered under her breath, half a laugh, half a groan. Of course. She hadn’t needed to stand still and worry. She hadn’t needed to be a lantern left behind on the sidelines. She could [i]go.[/i] She could do something better than watch. She could be a better friend than that.

Her body moved before her doubt could regroup.

Zelia broke into a jog, shoes kicking up sand as she cut across the edge of the arena, heart hammering with sudden, electric certainty. She didn’t look at anyone. All that existed was Rae, just clearing the last tire, lifting her foot out with careful triumph. Zelia caught up beside her, breathless but grinning, her expression bright and crackling like she’d just stepped into her own storm. She slowed to match Rae’s pace, bouncing once on the balls of her feet like she couldn’t quite contain the energy buzzing through her.

[color=EBCEED]“Okay,”[/color] she said, sheepish laughter threading through the word. [color=EBCEED]“So—confession.”[/color] She rubbed the back of her neck, eyes sparkling with equal parts apology and excitement. [color=EBCEED]“I was so focused on making sure you were okay that I… absolutely did not listen to River very well.”[/color] A beat. [color=EBCEED]“Turns out, we’re allowed to help. Like. [i]Actually,[/i] help.”[/color]

She gestured vaguely back toward the course, then toward herself, then toward Rae, as if connecting invisible dots that suddenly made perfect sense. Her smile softened, but her eyes stayed bright and earnest.

[color=EBCEED]“So,”[/color] she added, voice tipping into hopeful mischief as she fell fully into step beside her, [color=EBCEED]“Will you let me run it with you? Help you through? I promise not to rush you. Or carry you. Or narrate dramatically. Unless requested, of course.”[/color] She waited there, open and warm and a little breathless, electricity humming under her skin— not from lightning this time, but from the simple, fierce relief of realizing she didn’t have to let Rae do this alone.

Rae was so focused on the choreography of her feet that the sudden presence at her side almost escaped her notice. She started slightly before turning her head, blinking as Zelia launched into a breathless explanation tinged with apparent chagrin. When the offer became clear, Rae’s first, truthfully visceral, instinct was one of pure resistance. It was a reflex sharpened over the years that screamed, [i]I can do this myself. I should have to[/i]. It was the same stubborn voice that had gotten her through a childhood marked by her mother’s long hours and quiet exhaustion, through stretched-thin meals and school hallways buzzing with talk of family vacations and fathers who showed up to games. Rae had learned early not to need what wasn’t offered. Not to ask. Not to expect. So, pride and self-sufficiency had fused into something like a principle with time: [i]We’re fine[/i]. Even when “fine” meant planning and doing absolutely everything alone, while others merely observed from the sidelines. 

Then she looked at Zelia again. Truly looked.

Zelia wasn’t ahead of her, effortlessly clearing obstacles. She wasn’t hovering behind either, poised to catch a fall. She was simply [i]there[/i]. Standing beside her after initially staying to watch her. Offering, not insisting, and waiting for Rae to decide now. 

Something in Rae’s chest shifted, subtle but seismic, and she swallowed, aware of a warmth diffusing up her neck that was entirely divorced from physical exertion.

[color=#3b9ae1]"You…really don’t have to,"[/color] she said first, the words a transparent and gentle truth. [color=#3b9ae1]"I mean, I’m slow. And I’ll probably complain the whole time."[/color]

Her gaze darted forward to the next obstacle, then back again, the choice sitting between them, small but heavy.

[color=#3b9ae1]"...But,"[/color] Rae added, her voice dropping to a shy, almost hesitant murmur, [color=#3b9ae1]"yeah. Okay."[/color] Her shoulders relaxed a fraction, as if she’d set down a weight she hadn’t realized she was carrying. [color=#3b9ae1]"Running with you sounds…"[/color] She searched for the right word, then huffed a self-conscious breath. [color=#3b9ae1]"Less awful. Maybe even… kind of good?"[/color]

Zelia didn’t move while Rae thought it through. Not a step forward, not a glance away. She stayed exactly where she was, easy and open, hands loose at her sides, breath slowly evening out as she matched Rae’s pace without meaning to. There was no impatience in her posture, no flicker of disappointment waiting in the wings—only a quiet, unmistakable contentment in simply being there. If Rae decided she wanted to finish this alone, Zelia would peel away without hurt. If she wanted company, Zelia would stay. Either way felt right to her, and it showed plainly in the soft lines of her face. 

She watched Rae wrestle with herself, and something tender settled behind Zelia’s ribs. She knew that look. The way someone tried to convince themselves they didn’t need what was being offered. Zelia didn’t interrupt it. Didn’t rush it. She let the silence be generous. When Rae finally spoke, hesitant and honest, Zelia’s grin didn’t explode into triumph; it simply warmed, like sunlight slipping through cloud cover. Relief, yes, but more than that, gratitude that she was allowed to be there beside her through this.

[color=EBCEED]“Hey,”[/color] she said gently, voice light but sure, as if setting something fragile down between them instead of picking it up. [color=EBCEED]“Complaining is absolutely allowed. Encouraged, even. I’ll probably join in.”[/color] A small laugh curved through the words. [color=EBCEED]“And slow is fine. Slow still moves forward.”[/color]

She shrugged, the motion loose and unguarded. [color=EBCEED]“I’m not here to push you or fix anything. I’m just… here. To cheer you on, or run with you, or walk beside you if that’s what today needs.”[/color] Her eyes flicked ahead to the course, then back to Rae, bright with easy sincerity. [color=EBCEED]“Being a good friend mostly just means showing up and not disappearing when things get hard, I think. I can do that.”[/color]

Her smile tilted into something playful, electricity humming faintly beneath her skin. [color=EBCEED]“And I can definitely work with ‘kind of good’,”[/color] she added, conspiratorial. [color=EBCEED]“As long as you don’t make me get in the pool. That’s where I draw the line. Very firm boundary.”[/color] Then, like a spark catching dry air, her expression lit fully—warm, buoyant, impossible to miss. She bounced once on her heels, energy gathering again like a coiled spring. [color=EBCEED]“Okay,”[/color] she said, sunshine-bright, turning slightly so they faced the next stretch together. [color=EBCEED]“Ready for the log jumps?”[/color]

[color=#3b9ae1]"Ready might be too strong a word,"[/color] Rae replied, her tone dry. [color=#3b9ae1]"But willing? Yeah. I think I can manage that."[/color] Besides, something told her if she could decipher Nelly’s fast rambling, she could handle anything, especially with her friend lending a helping hand. 

She moved forward, positioning herself beside Zelia rather than ahead or behind, their strides falling into a shared rhythm as they neared the first log. Rae paused for a half-second, drew a steadying breath, and let it out slowly.

[color=#3b9ae1]"Hey,"[/color] she said, not so embarrassed but thoughtful. [color=#3b9ae1]"Do you mind going first, actually?"[/color] She offered a self-aware tilt of her head. [color=#3b9ae1]"Just so I can see how you approach it. My body and I are still… renegotiating our terms."[/color] She gestured vaguely toward the log. [color=#3b9ae1]"I think watching you might also help me figure out where my feet are supposed to go instead of, you know, just hoping."[/color]

Zelia’s face lit up immediately at the request, not with showy excitement but with a bright, unmistakable relief that Rae was letting her help in a way that felt right. She nodded once, quick and confident, then twice more, softer, like she was tucking the agreement gently into place.

[color=EBCEED]“Yeah,”[/color] she said easily. [color=EBCEED]“Of course. I’m happy to.”[/color] There was no impatience in her voice, no sense of finally. Just warmth. A small smile tugged at her mouth as she stepped closer to the first one, feet crunching lightly in the sand. [color=EBCEED]“I ran track growing up, hurdles were a big part of it. They’re not like this exactly, but the idea’s similar. It’s less about power and more about timing. And knowing where your body actually is, not where you think it should be.”[/color]

Then she turned to the log.

Zelia approached it without hurry, her movements unspooling with a deliberate calm that felt almost instructional. She didn’t leap. She didn’t attack it. She placed one foot, tested the height, and let her weight settle before committing. Her body moved like it remembered a rhythm older than this obstacle, knees lifting cleanly, core steady, breath even. She stepped over the first log with quiet control, landing softly on the other side as if the ground were something to be greeted rather than conquered.

The second log was higher, and she adjusted without fuss. Hands came briefly to the wood, not to haul herself up but to guide the motion, palms warm against the grain. She swung one leg over, then the other, pausing just long enough at the top to show that balance wasn’t something you stole, it was something you kept. She descended smoothly, shoes touching down in a way that barely disturbed the sand.

By the third and fourth, her pace slowed further, intentionally so. Each movement was clean and readable, like she was spelling it out in a language Rae could learn. Step. Shift. Lift. Clear. No wasted motion. Just patience and trust in her own body. The logs didn’t rush her, and she didn’t rush them. When she reached the end, she turned back, a little breathless now but smiling, eyes shining with quiet encouragement.

Zelia’s movements appeared to possess a preternatural effortlessness. Rae watched in silence, her attention fixed on the intention guiding each one. Her friend wasn't showing off or performing for an audience. She was, whether consciously or not, teaching, deliberately slowing her own pace so she could absorb the shape of each motion. And it struck Rae then, with a small, poignant ache, that such consideration was not an isolated incident but a consistent pattern.

She had been like this from the very beginning. It wasn't just that she was skilled at the physical challenges Rae found so daunting; Zelia was good with people in a way that felt natural and unforced. When they had met that morning, and Rae had nervously claimed her space, Zelia hadn’t bristled or withdrawn. Instead, she had offered a warmth that didn’t crowd and a presence that carried no pressure. Even the nickname, Winter Fire, hadn’t landed as a joke or a careless label. It had felt, strangely and wonderfully, like being seen fully for who she was and who she could be. As if Zelia had noticed something both fragile and fierce within her all at once and had decided it was worth safeguarding.

[color=EBCEED]“That’s really it,”[/color] Zelia said gently. [color=EBCEED]“You don’t have to jump unless it feels right. You can step, climb, pause—whatever keeps you steady.”[/color] She gave her a thumbs up, because it was silly enough paired with her grin that maybe she could drag a smile from Rae, eyes bright. 

[color=#3b9ae1]"Okay,"[/color] Rae said with a single, firm nod. Her tone was thoughtful, not yet confident, but no longer defeated either. She moved toward the first log, mirroring Zelia’s measured approach instead of rushing headlong. Her foot hovered briefly before she set it down, testing the height just as she’d observed. The memory of her earlier stumble flashed through her mind, but this time it didn’t hijack her focus. Instead, she adjusted—shifting her weight back, then forward, until her balance felt secure—before stepping over the log with an unceremonious clearance.

[color=#3b9ae1]"...Huh,"[/color] Rae muttered, glancing down at her feet as if they’d betrayed her by cooperating. [color=#3b9ae1]"It’s a little rude of you to suddenly decide to work with me, you know?"[/color] 

The second log stood taller. She paused before it, exhaling slowly through her nose as she gave the obstacle a long, unimpressed stare. Then, remembering Zelia’s advice, Rae placed both hands firmly on the log, her palms warm against the rough grain, and took her time swinging one leg over, then the other. It wasn’t graceful, but it was controlled. At the top, she allowed herself an extra second to re-center before focusing on the next log. When her shoe scraped the edge of this one, she hissed softly, froze, corrected her stance, and continued forward without spiralling into panic.

When she finally cleared the last log, Rae straightened and released a long, slow breath. Better. It may not have looked as easy as Zelia’s run, but that second run was ultimately so much better for her. 

Zelia stayed just off to the side, giving Rae space without ever truly stepping away. She watched every careful adjustment, every pause that wasn’t hesitation so much as consideration. Her smile grew slowly, stretching into something unguarded and bright as Rae crossed the logs not like someone trying to conquer them, but like someone negotiating a truce—mind, body, and obstacle all agreeing to cooperate for once.

It struck her, quietly and unmistakably, that what was blooming in her chest wasn’t relief. It was pride.

Not the easy kind, the borrowed sort that came from someone doing exactly what you’d suggested. This was deeper than that. This was the pride of watching someone [i]think.[/i] Rae hadn’t just copied her movements; she’d watched, absorbed, translated. She’d taken what she saw and reassembled it to fit her own body, her own limits, her own rhythm. She’d turned observation into strategy, hesitation into method. Zelia felt it curl warmly beneath her ribs, that fierce admiration, because Rae wasn’t strong in spite of being thoughtful; she was strong [i]because[/i] of it.

And somewhere between the second and third log, Zelia realized her own body had relaxed completely. Her shoulders weren’t tight. Her hands weren’t clenched. She wasn’t braced for a stumble or a fall. She trusted Rae, wholly, instinctively, because Rae had decided she would make it through, and that kind of resolve was its own gravity.

When Rae cleared the last log and straightened, Zelia was already moving. She bounded forward with a lightness that felt almost celebratory, shoes skidding just a bit in the sand as she closed the distance between them. Her smile said everything before her mouth ever caught up— bright, open, unmistakably proud. She bumped her shoulder gently against Rae’s in an easy, affectionate nudge, electricity humming happily beneath her skin.

[color=EBCEED]“You did amazing,”[/color] she said, voice warm and certain, like it was a fact rather than praise. [color=EBCEED]“See? You and your brain are an excellent team.”[/color]

[color=#3b9ae1]"Thanks to you being such a good teacher, of course,"[/color] Rae replied, her own voice lighter than it had been for the past two and a half hours.[color=#3b9ae1]"And to my legs, I suppose. They deserve some credit. They did most of the actual work."[/color] 

Next awaited the low crawl. This obstacle didn’t worry her too much as she’d managed it easily enough the first time. So….

[color=#3b9ae1]"I can go through this one first…but if you want to join me…?"[/color] Rae asked while fully turning to look at Zelia, a new, tentative boldness colouring her tone. 

When Rae turned to her—cheeks flushed from effort, freckles darkened by heat, hair caught in the sudden spill of sunlight so that it burned copper and gold all at once—and asked if she’d do the low crawl with her, something inside Zelia tipped sideways. The thought came uninvited and startling in its clarity; If it had been Rae insisting she do swim lessons, not River… she might not have argued at all.

The realization stole the air from her lungs for a heartbeat. Zelia blinked once. Then again. It wasn’t fear that followed, but wonder—bright and a little frightening in the way new truths always were. The kind that rearranged things quietly, without asking permission. She hadn’t decided anything. She hadn’t made a promise to herself. But the knowledge settled anyway, warm and undeniable. Rae asking had weight. Rae asking changed things. This was what a friend was, right? Someone who mattered so much that you’d face your fears for them?

Joy surged up in her chest, sudden and irrepressible, fizzing through her veins like a live wire. It made her grin wide enough to show her teeth, a smile too big to hide even if she’d wanted to. The world felt lighter in that moment, the sand underfoot less heavy, the obstacles less sharp-edged. [color=EBCEED]“Of course,”[/color] Zelia said, voice bright and breathless with it.

A similar wide grin spread across Rae’s face. [color=#3b9ae1]"Great!"[/color] she said, already turning toward the low-crawl obstacle. She lowered herself to the ground, pressing her palms briefly into the sand to gauge its texture. The earth here was looser than she remembered, soft and churned from dozens of bodies before her, yet forgiving in a way the rigid logs had never been. She dropped onto her stomach, immediately feeling the cool sand seep through her clothes, a relief against the lingering heat in her skin. Tucking her elbows in close, she began to inch forward, pulling herself along with short, controlled motions.

The heavy net brushed against the back of her shoulders, hanging low enough that she had to press herself flatter, tilting her chin down to avoid snagging it. Sand filtered into her sleeves, clinging to her forearms and dusting her cheek whenever she turned her head to breathe. It wasn’t graceful, but for the first time all day, it didn’t feel humiliating. It was hard to feel truly alone when someone was moving right beside you.

Halfway through, she paused to glance sideways. Zelia was right there, matching her pace. The simple awareness of it sent a wave of warmth through Rae’s chest, stronger than the heat still humming beneath her skin. She hadn’t fully realized how much of her earlier panic had come from feeling watched and judged—until now, when the only eyes on her belonged to someone who wasn’t keeping score.

Rae pushed forward again, her arms burning just enough to let her know she was working but not enough to strain. The end of the net appeared sooner than she expected, and when she finally cleared it, she planted her hands, pushed up onto her knees, and sat back on her heels.

[color=#3b9ae1]"I wish the whole course was like that,"[/color] she admitted as her friend approached, dusting sand from her own forearms. [color=#3b9ae1]"I’m not completely sure I can handle the next one…"[/color] 

Zelia matched her without thinking, dropping down into the sand with a quiet laugh that puffed grit into the air. The ground was cool against her palms, loose and forgiving, and she let herself sink into it, elbows tucked, shoulders angled just enough to slide beneath the net without catching. She moved beside Rae, not ahead, not behind, close enough that their arms occasionally brushed, close enough that she could feel the rhythm of Rae’s breathing and let it set her own pace.

She grinned the entire way through, even when sand pressed cool against her collarbone, even when the net grazed her back and tugged at her curls. There was something almost ridiculous about it, this shared crawl through dirt and effort, like two kids daring each other to see who could make it to the other side without laughing first. Zelia’s cheeks warmed, flushed from exertion and delight, curls slipping loose and collecting grains of sand like tiny stars caught in dark clouds.

When they emerged, Zelia pushed herself up easily, brushing at her forearms without much success and deciding not to care. She was breathing a little harder now, chest rising and falling with a pleasant ache, but her smile didn’t dim. She turned toward Rae, still half-kneeling in the sand, and crouched down again so they were eye level, like she didn’t want to loom or rush her forward.

[color=EBCEED]“It was like that,”[/color] she said softly, warmth threading through every word. [color=EBCEED]“Because we did it together.”[/color] She tilted her head, eyes bright with a kind of playful certainty. [color=EBCEED]“And the next one can be, too. If we let it.”[/color]

Zelia gestured vaguely toward the rest of the course, then back at Rae, her tone lightening. [color=EBCEED]“Try thinking of it like a game instead of… whatever cruel productivity nightmare this place is pretending to be.”[/color] A small laugh escaped her. [color=EBCEED]“A playground for big kids. No grades. No score. Just figuring out what works.”[/color]

She shifted closer, shoulder nearly touching Rae’s again, grounding without crowding. [color=EBCEED]“And if it gets too hard or frustrating,”[/color] she added gently, [color=EBCEED]“I’m right here. We’ll problem-solve. Or complain. Or laugh at it. Probably all three.”[/color] Her grin returned, easy and sincere, sand-smudged and bright.

Rae listened, nodding along at first, genuinely trying to follow Zelia’s reframing. Playground. Game. No grades. Just figuring out what works.

She opened her mouth, closed it, then sighed through her nose.

[color=#3b9ae1]"Okay,"[/color] she said slowly, as if she was troubleshooting out loud.[color=#3b9ae1]"I understand what you’re saying conceptually, like with the low crawl being some kind of tunnel on a playground kids have to crawl through, I guess. And I appreciate it. I do."[/color]

Her eyes drifted to the rope climb ahead, expression flattening into something analytical and deeply unimpressed.

[color=#3b9ae1]"But I don’t know how to pretend [i]that[/i],"[/color] she gestured at it with two fingers,[color=#3b9ae1]" is a playground problem when my upper body strength is basically one big design flaw."[/color] She paused, her tone turning dry. [color=#3b9ae1]"Like…there is no version of my childhood where I looked at a rope and thought, ‘Ah, yes. Fun. Joy. Whimsy.’ It’s always just been… impossible physics."[/color] She hated the way she sounded, like it wasn’t enough to just…believe that she could handle this next challenge by just having Zelia by her side. 

But she couldn’t do it again. Rae didn’t want to live through a second pointless humiliation. 

Zelia hummed at that, not dismissive, not amused, but thoughtful in the way one does when a truth has been set down plainly and deserves to be turned over in the light. She leaned back on her heels and tipped her head up toward the sky, curls brushing her shoulders as her gaze traced the low ceiling of clouds overhead. They were a deep, woolen grey, heavy with the promise of more snow, the kind that softened sound and made the world feel smaller. Every so often, though, a seam split open and sunlight spilled through in sudden, unapologetic bursts, bright enough to make the sand glitter and the ropes gleam like they were strung with fire.

She watched one such beam fade, then another take its place, and let Rae’s words settle.

[color=EBCEED]“Yeah,”[/color] Zelia said at last, quietly. She looked back down at Rae, her smile gentler now, softened around the edges by understanding rather than cheer. [color=EBCEED]“That’s fair.”[/color] No argument. No reframing. Just acceptance, offered cleanly. [color=EBCEED]“That’s… pretty much how I feel about swimming.”[/color] Her shoulders lifted in a small, almost sheepish shrug. [color=EBCEED]“I’ve never once looked at a pool and thought ‘fun.’ It’s always just been… depth. And cold. And the math of how long I can hold my breath, which, by the way, isn’t nearly long enough.”[/color]

She shifted closer, sand whispering beneath her knees, eyes flicking once more toward the rope before returning to Rae with renewed focus. [color=EBCEED]“So maybe we don’t pretend it’s a playground,”[/color] she continued. [color=EBCEED]“Maybe we just… problem-solve it like adults who didn’t get the fun version of these things.”[/color] The idea seemed to settle into her, brightening her expression just a little. She rose smoothly to her feet and gestured toward the base of the rope. [color=EBCEED]“I can give you a boost,”[/color] she offered. [color=EBCEED]“As much height as I can get you. You won’t have to start from nothing, just from somewhere higher.”[/color] Her mouth curved into a small, confident smile. [color=EBCEED]“All you’ll need to do is reach the top.”[/color]

Then, softer, but steadier, she added, [color=EBCEED]“And if you fall, I’ll catch you.”[/color] It wasn’t bravado. It wasn’t a promise made lightly. The certainty in her voice ran deeper than reassurance, settling into her bones and offering itself as something solid to lean against. Zelia met Rae’s eyes without flinching, without doubt.

[color=EBCEED]“And—”[/color] she went on, the seriousness easing back into warmth. [color=EBCEED]“We could work out together in the mornings. Nothing like… this.”[/color] She waved vaguely at the obstacle course. [color=EBCEED]“Just a little. Consistent. Building strength instead of throwing you at ropes and hoping for you to transform into Wonder Woman.”[/color] Zelia held out her hand for Rae, her smile small, but as bright as each beam of sunlight that slipped free of the clouds.

[b]End of Part 1[/b][/color][/justify][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent]

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[color=808080][b]interactions[/b] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c]....[/color] nelly [color=2e2c2c]...............[/color] [b]mentions[/b] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c]....[/color] river [color=2e2c2c]...............[/color] [b]collabs[/b] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c]....[/color] [@Sleepy Tani][/color]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/9qIY4OK.jpeg[/img][/sup][/center]