soren
Soren watched her work, the soft drag of charcoal and the brisk certainty of her hands. It shouldn’t have caught him off guard, for Aithne in motion was always like this, full of conviction she pretended was whimsy, but something about seeing his room sketched into the growing blueprint of her imagined home struck deeper than he expected.soren
Yours too she’d said. Like it was that simple. Like she hadn’t crossed worlds for him, bled for him, reshaped her own soul in the wake of ancient magic for him. Soren exhaled, slow. "The Grounds are fine." He said, holding on to her hope and excitement like an achor in the wind of his traveling heart.
He wouldn't stay put, though, he admitted inwardly. It wasn't in him and she knew that better than anyone else. His dreams had always been lived on the edges of maps, in places that cut and scarred, places deeper and more dangerous and enticing than the solid and known streets of Stormbreak. Yet as he glanced toward the page—toward her—another thought rose, quieter, startling in its honesty. A moment, soft, only for Aithne “It’s ours, then.”
We're spitting off the edge of the world out in the night
