we're always running scared but holding knives
"Yes," Isla agrees with a soft laugh, "I think I could do without the storms as well." Ordinary rainfall and thunder is one thing, but the additional shrieking had been an unwelcome surprise this season. As Fern melts back against her side her arm closes around her automatically, reassuring rather than protective, because of all the people and creatures in the world, Everest Hart is never going to be something she needs to fear. And their daughter's nerves are short-lived, she's glad to see, releasing her so she might go to properly (and literally) measure herself up against her father.
Ever's nod is something small but profound, and Isla's relief brims to the surface in her smile. They can talk properly later, appreciate all that has changed and how this will impact their future - in ways she hopes will be much less stressful than when Fern had been an infant, still. "A cat?" she echoes, a little too late to catch the prowling shape but very much present for their daughter's curiosity and Ever's wary shift.
Biting back a laugh and moving to approach on Fern's other side, Isla peers over the window ledge and manages to catch the sear cat just as it prowls between a couple of shrubs. "I think it's very capable of feeding itself," she says, a hint of apology in her tone as she glances over Fern's head to the black dog and his raised hackles. "Besides," she adds in a stage whisper, "cats can't play fetch. But I bet your father can."
Ever's nod is something small but profound, and Isla's relief brims to the surface in her smile. They can talk properly later, appreciate all that has changed and how this will impact their future - in ways she hopes will be much less stressful than when Fern had been an infant, still. "A cat?" she echoes, a little too late to catch the prowling shape but very much present for their daughter's curiosity and Ever's wary shift.
Biting back a laugh and moving to approach on Fern's other side, Isla peers over the window ledge and manages to catch the sear cat just as it prowls between a couple of shrubs. "I think it's very capable of feeding itself," she says, a hint of apology in her tone as she glances over Fern's head to the black dog and his raised hackles. "Besides," she adds in a stage whisper, "cats can't play fetch. But I bet your father can."
Isla
