LOREN
As bathtime continued—and escalated, from the sound of things—Loren kept up his efforts with the bread. It was easy to get lost in the motions, though the background noises caused his eyes to grow distant and more than a bit wistful. Still, he dusted a counter with flour, then placed the dough on it to begin kneading. And if his hands had a little bit more force than was strictly necessary behind them, well, no one was around to notice or paying much attention to him; Phoebe was clearly engrossed with keeping the boys in line, and they in turn were having a grand old time.
Then, however, chaos exploded in the small space: the children literally came out streaking, and the midwife wasn’t far behind. The summoner pressed himself against a counter as they all dashed past. For a moment, he considered whistling, the piercing one he’d use on the animals at the farm. However, Phoebe had it well in hand. Obviously he’d heard firm and commanding before, but it was usually harsh, not kind. Again, he felt his eyes become haunted, and he turned back to the bread-making, placing the fully ready dough into a carefully greased bowl and covering it, before setting it in a safe and warm place spot to rise.
When the healer said sorry, however, the Launceleyn turned to her, trying to hide his expression. ”No need to apologize.” He dusted the flour from his hands as a distraction, both for himself and to keep her from examining him too closely. Hopefully she’d have to go back to supervising the boys soon enough. This was all so...nice. Disturbingly so. And all it served to do was remind him how abnormal his upbringing had been. So on the one hand, he was glad that she'd managed to make a home for herself; on the other, he couldn't help but recognize exactly how far his own life had been and still was from anything like this. The Manor was cold and lifeless and certainly hadn't seen or heard the laughter of children since his return.
Then, however, chaos exploded in the small space: the children literally came out streaking, and the midwife wasn’t far behind. The summoner pressed himself against a counter as they all dashed past. For a moment, he considered whistling, the piercing one he’d use on the animals at the farm. However, Phoebe had it well in hand. Obviously he’d heard firm and commanding before, but it was usually harsh, not kind. Again, he felt his eyes become haunted, and he turned back to the bread-making, placing the fully ready dough into a carefully greased bowl and covering it, before setting it in a safe and warm place spot to rise.
When the healer said sorry, however, the Launceleyn turned to her, trying to hide his expression. ”No need to apologize.” He dusted the flour from his hands as a distraction, both for himself and to keep her from examining him too closely. Hopefully she’d have to go back to supervising the boys soon enough. This was all so...nice. Disturbingly so. And all it served to do was remind him how abnormal his upbringing had been. So on the one hand, he was glad that she'd managed to make a home for herself; on the other, he couldn't help but recognize exactly how far his own life had been and still was from anything like this. The Manor was cold and lifeless and certainly hadn't seen or heard the laughter of children since his return.
But don’t be weary if it’s broken
Families are like that—
they’re split up and always torn.
