give me something to sing about

i've seen fire & i've seen rain.
i've seen sunny days that i thought would never end

"So long as you write it." The Lullaby agrees; his poor penmanship these days would likely offend their oldest child if only because of the effort it would take for him to read Remi's scribbles.

Sliding off of the nimbus, rather than going instantly to the wine or bread, instead, Remi pauses, staring down at the picnic as if trying to make sense of what it was he was seeing.  Confusion sweeps across his face, and though the right side of his body isn't as expressive anymore for the damage to his right arm, he turns toward his husband to offer as much of an embrace as he can manage. "I remember our first meal together. A bottle of something I had made, and you picked up a loaf of bread on the way over, and we sat in my small apartment." He murmurs, voice made misty by the memory.

"And now here we are, in an alpine meadow few can even reach and most have not even heard of, with all of this." The Lullaby is able to sound equal parts sad and delighted about this fact, and were you to view only half of his face at a time, he would appear both to be smiling and frowning.