tell the wolves I'm home
Only a pleased rumble exuded from his chest, the boyish grin entangled and centered, at the length of her own smile and the imminent, forgone conclusion. But he favored the slow, purposeful teases, the plentiful enticements and framed allures, “We will see,” along a grumbled counter, striving to step out of reach of the incoming hand flailing. But then her palms framed his face and he stilled, head tilting at the heady whisper, pondering over the rest of his daring. In a moment, maybe.
“Of course,” followed instead with breaths to ghost over sunrises and crimson flames for hair, stepping back to take her by the hand and lead her along the aperture. They passed by the row of logs where schemes were hatched or news shared, along dirt paths flanked by vibrant greenery, nature stoking its way back into the surface of past expulsions, before he opened the wooden door, standing back so she might have full view of the quarters.
He figured she’d conduct a full investigation, so his brow arched, waiting for the reaction, unfurling a bit of fire in the hearth to see by as the sunrise dipped and clipped through windows; the rustle of petals and drapery, and things once left to settle into the backdrop. Far more intricate and detailed than when he’d last left these Spartan quarters, heading for Torchline to enact a guild in between relic hunting and digging through possibilities; it might’ve looked like something out of groves and canopies, mended and tended forests. A small kitchen, a table for two, fresh wildflowers in a glass vase, petals continuing pathways in various directions, over couches and pillows, between floorboards and canvases, settled upon the bed, taken and snatched at some point so they might’ve matched the ones through their wedding aisle.
Standing along the threshold, his brow arched, before leaning against wooden frames and beams. “What do you think?” Eyes drawn back to hers, he jutted his jawline towards one of the open windows. “There is a pond out back as well, in case you wanted to practice swimming again.”
“Of course,” followed instead with breaths to ghost over sunrises and crimson flames for hair, stepping back to take her by the hand and lead her along the aperture. They passed by the row of logs where schemes were hatched or news shared, along dirt paths flanked by vibrant greenery, nature stoking its way back into the surface of past expulsions, before he opened the wooden door, standing back so she might have full view of the quarters.
He figured she’d conduct a full investigation, so his brow arched, waiting for the reaction, unfurling a bit of fire in the hearth to see by as the sunrise dipped and clipped through windows; the rustle of petals and drapery, and things once left to settle into the backdrop. Far more intricate and detailed than when he’d last left these Spartan quarters, heading for Torchline to enact a guild in between relic hunting and digging through possibilities; it might’ve looked like something out of groves and canopies, mended and tended forests. A small kitchen, a table for two, fresh wildflowers in a glass vase, petals continuing pathways in various directions, over couches and pillows, between floorboards and canvases, settled upon the bed, taken and snatched at some point so they might’ve matched the ones through their wedding aisle.
Standing along the threshold, his brow arched, before leaning against wooden frames and beams. “What do you think?” Eyes drawn back to hers, he jutted his jawline towards one of the open windows. “There is a pond out back as well, in case you wanted to practice swimming again.”
the ressurected sword
