EVEREST
"Of course," he says immediately, without hesitation and without embellishment. It is not reassurance offered lightly; it is a promise logged and prioritized.
Adjusting Fern minutely in his arms, he shifts his stance and begins to move, slow, careful steps around the perimeter of the room. Not pacing, not restless; simply walking with deliberate calm, allowing the subtle sway of motion to settle into a rhythm that might soothe the tiny, alert bundle against his chest. "Right," he murmurs softly to Fern as they pass the monitoring equipment, voice pitched low and steady. That apparatus measures maternal vitals. It is currently unnecessary, which is favourable." He moves on, angling slightly so her head remains supported, fingers checking instinctively beneath her neck again.
"Those trays contained sterile instruments," he continues, tone conversational but hushed. "There was considerable preparation involved prior to your arrival. Checklists. Contingencies. We even rehearsed breathing patterns." His mouth twitches faintly. "Your mother was exceptionally competent." He passes the window, where twilight has deepened into full evening, the clinic lights reflecting faintly in the glass, before turning slowly, angling back toward the bed in time to catch in the periphery of his vision, the moment Isla’s lashes finally lower.
And with that, he resumes his gentle circuit, steady and unhurried, holding their daughter as though the entire world has narrowed to the exact dimensions of her in his arms.
~FIN
Adjusting Fern minutely in his arms, he shifts his stance and begins to move, slow, careful steps around the perimeter of the room. Not pacing, not restless; simply walking with deliberate calm, allowing the subtle sway of motion to settle into a rhythm that might soothe the tiny, alert bundle against his chest. "Right," he murmurs softly to Fern as they pass the monitoring equipment, voice pitched low and steady. That apparatus measures maternal vitals. It is currently unnecessary, which is favourable." He moves on, angling slightly so her head remains supported, fingers checking instinctively beneath her neck again.
"Those trays contained sterile instruments," he continues, tone conversational but hushed. "There was considerable preparation involved prior to your arrival. Checklists. Contingencies. We even rehearsed breathing patterns." His mouth twitches faintly. "Your mother was exceptionally competent." He passes the window, where twilight has deepened into full evening, the clinic lights reflecting faintly in the glass, before turning slowly, angling back toward the bed in time to catch in the periphery of his vision, the moment Isla’s lashes finally lower.
And with that, he resumes his gentle circuit, steady and unhurried, holding their daughter as though the entire world has narrowed to the exact dimensions of her in his arms.
~FIN
the boards will still creak
the leaves will still die
the leaves will still die
