EVIE
like love is a bad word
It’s likely a good thing he cannot, if only because Evie would surely work herself to distraction worrying over his reception of her budding awareness of her feelings until her face turned blue. Though she has worked hard to foster true confidence in herself instead of the gilded, cheap veneer of arrogance she’d worn as a young woman, things such as…well, that are far from her wheelhouse. Tree after tree. They continue on, both felling their third trees for a total of six. The small copse thins with each loss, clearing the surroundings so she can keep an eye on her partner. There’s no need, but there’s also a comfort in habitually looking for him, an assurance in the fact she finds him there each time. Admittedly, she does it often; in the Barracks surrounded by soldiers, in meetings for armaments, even in the open rooms of his home where nobody else convened. Like checking a pulse, something she’s done countless times, but which tells her what she needs to hear without ever saying a word herself.
Another tree.
Gods, but it’s boring. So as her magic works on the fifth tree, she bends over and quietly compacts a snowball - and when his own falls, she throws it under cover of the noise of its demise, right for the Sword’s shoulder.
