Lena
Lena laughed at his comment, shaking her head until his kiss lingered on her cheek, and returned the favor, slightly underneath along jawlines. “That’s very sweet. I’d make sure to rescue you.” Then she winked again, too sensible and pragmatic to permit them to be lost – save for with one another, she supposed.
To hear he was at least settled was something though, and she adjusted the angle of her shoulders, a long breath to follow, as if striving to billow the weight of it all away and into the ether, the wind, the eaves, the woods. “I get that,” she surmised, gaze wandering over to the boughs and branches, then ambling downward, to see if there was some gold mingling amidst the pine and finery. “That want and need to return to something familiar – and some of that can only be found in Stormbreak.” But that was the terrain of before - when the world hadn’t come crashing down around them. King’s End, as wonderful and warm and welcoming as it was, would never hold the Celestine. And they could remake the Dragoons as much as they’d like, but the stony portions and the backdrop and everything they’d ever chiseled –
Forging and forcing that away, her eyes swung to Mittens, brow arching as the snowball sniffed at a few roots, before moving on. “That’s true,” and she permitted a soft laugh. “And I’ve got some herbs growing.” So it was something; bulbs and petals, fronds and promises.
To hear he was at least settled was something though, and she adjusted the angle of her shoulders, a long breath to follow, as if striving to billow the weight of it all away and into the ether, the wind, the eaves, the woods. “I get that,” she surmised, gaze wandering over to the boughs and branches, then ambling downward, to see if there was some gold mingling amidst the pine and finery. “That want and need to return to something familiar – and some of that can only be found in Stormbreak.” But that was the terrain of before - when the world hadn’t come crashing down around them. King’s End, as wonderful and warm and welcoming as it was, would never hold the Celestine. And they could remake the Dragoons as much as they’d like, but the stony portions and the backdrop and everything they’d ever chiseled –
Forging and forcing that away, her eyes swung to Mittens, brow arching as the snowball sniffed at a few roots, before moving on. “That’s true,” and she permitted a soft laugh. “And I’ve got some herbs growing.” So it was something; bulbs and petals, fronds and promises.
The universe listens to brave
