Authorly preamble or something: Set when Souma first joins Yasha-ou and Ashura. The title is from the E.E. Cummings poem i carry your heart with me. And while I have some concerns about the possible purpleness of my prose, I feel like RG Veda calls for a touch of purple. :)

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

The wind whipped Kendappa's hair about violently, silken black strands marking streaks against the ever-darkening indigo sky. Her obscured vision heightened the sting of the wind's chill, her other senses taking up the slack for one suddenly falling short, and despite the reactionary bumps rising along her arms she took comfort in the familiar weight of the harp in her hands.

Her eyes closed, she turned her face in the direction she knew the departing parties to be travelling; despite the distance and the dark she felt as if she could see them clearly all the same. The Yasha lord, the Ashura child, and her dearest Souma — she felt with an unshakable certainty that the latter was carrying away with her a piece of Kendappa's heart, a piece of her own self. She pressed her hand gently to her chest, feeling for the dull thrum of a heart aching with a slow yet inevitably increasing distance.

Kendappa pressed her fingertips gently to her harp's strings, the sharpness of the touch resonating with her own longing. Looking up to the sky, she stared intently into the darkness until she could finally see the stars faintly dotting the endless expanse. Her skin cooled nearly to the point of numbness, the cold wind no longer bothered her. Her song called out to Souma, to the piece of her own heart, each note painting adoration for delicate strands of raven hair, gentle eyes, strong hands, for glowing memories of soft skin and intertwined fingers. Her song full of sorrow resonated for a great distance, and as she played her heartbeat fell into step with the metre.

Her pulse tingling down into her fingertips, she felt both dread and longing at the thought of their inevitable next meeting.