[ The part of her not yearning for the sky that feels a little clearer but far from remedied wants to question the twisting path Wangji follows as he keeps her aloft, leaning weightily against his side with no regard for propriety or what a hindrance she's making of herself.

Instead, he's the one asking questions, and she hums quietly in response, reaching back into her mind as far as she's able to, to try and find him the answer she knows must be there. ] When I–

[ Not the Ximo River, no, but she can remember claiming that whoever retrieved the flower growing on an island in its middle could claim her hand, at the time it was only to thwart that soft-headed prince, sure, but Xie Yun had done it anyway, unwilling to be outdone. ]

I...carried him.

[ In a last desperate bid to save his life, on her back, until her legs gave out, and when she awoke and believed him to be dead all the color drained out of the world. ]

Towards a shrine, to beg Buddha. There was nothing else to be done for him I thought.

[ It's an answer, it's not an answer, it's definitely more than she would share, but things are hard to thread together here, and she's grasping at any loose thread she can, trying to pull herself back together beneath the weight of the wings and the searingly loud call of the unseen moon, trying to lure her up and out even as there's no exit in sight. ]