I will not be great, but I'm grateful to get through
Everest listens as she circles the room, his attention drifting between the kettle beginning to hum and the quiet cadence of Isla’s voice explaining the morning’s chaos to Fern as though she were an attentive student rather than a recently awakened infant. At the mention of calling on Remi and Ronin, his shoulders tighten just slightly, the motion small enough it might go unnoticed if someone were not looking for it. He clears his throat before answering. "There are many shallow, calm places along the shoreline," he says pragmatically, pulling the mugs closer as the kettle begins to steam. "She will not require the depths necessary for a kraken or leviathan for quite some time."
The idea of a garden bench shifts his mood easily enough, causing a grin to tug at his mouth. "I have just the right wood for a swinging bench," he says, already half picturing the design in his head. "Something that will weather the salt air and smell pleasant in the heat."
When Isla crosses the room toward him he pauses, brows lifting a touch as he leans forward to meet the soft press of her kiss. His hand comes to rest naturally on her hip, gaze flicking downward for a moment to Fern, the fondness there immediate and obvious, before returning to Isla’s face. "And you are sure?" he asks gently.
The idea of a garden bench shifts his mood easily enough, causing a grin to tug at his mouth. "I have just the right wood for a swinging bench," he says, already half picturing the design in his head. "Something that will weather the salt air and smell pleasant in the heat."
When Isla crosses the room toward him he pauses, brows lifting a touch as he leans forward to meet the soft press of her kiss. His hand comes to rest naturally on her hip, gaze flicking downward for a moment to Fern, the fondness there immediate and obvious, before returning to Isla’s face. "And you are sure?" he asks gently.
