32. Dust Motes - for Mithari(it’s spelled correctly! You did great 😊)

Ari never did like old places. They smelled like dust and mildew and memories. Old was good, though, like her clan always said. Old meant remembering, preserving. Old meant reverence.

“Mithari. Wheel of Blades. The histories of our people are yours to defend.”

It was different to Bull. He traced his fingers across her vallaslin, the blood writing that painted nearly every inch of her skin. She was beautiful - brave, strong, and stubborn. She carried the weight of the world on her delicate shoulders, and yet still had time for tenderness.

“What do they mean? Your tattoos. Always thought I should ask someday.” He murmurs into the soft pink flesh of her belly. She was so tiny next to him, he thought he would crush her. But he didn’t. And she never said katoh.

“They’re symbols of my people. Stories that we tell. Histories we want to protect and tell our own children.” Ari rolls onto her side to show her back, covered in intricate writing and small renditions of trees and battles. “They’re written into my skin, so I don’t forget them. It was the greatest honor my clan could bestow on me. I hope I do them justice.”

“You do, ‘Thari.” Bull says, placing a gentle, chaste kiss on his lover’s forehead. “I don’t think you could disappoint them if you tried.”

introducing my Mahariel~ She’s gay and a whole dumbass and I love her! courtesy of this picrew! 

this has big meme energy and im-