[se] the sun knew you too

Lena

and sweetest in the gale is heard
and sore must be the storm

Layering her hands in flour, whisking portions of it back and forth to ensure nothing would be sticking along countertops, rolling pins, or hands, she glanced over at the tome, reading over Darkeye’s shoulder. “Shortbread first then,” she offered, reading over the list. It’d be able to breathe and rest while he worked on other things. Pointing with her elbow, she indicated where the butter was kept, and offered more flour for his part in the process.

After washing her hands, and would likely have to do so multiple times in the array of messy baking, the youth snagged at eggs, needing them just as much as he for the bread, beginning to whisk them in the bowl, and not forgetting to turn on the oven (a usual mishap).

that could abash the little bird
that kept so many warm