(2024-08-07) Wishes for a Child of the Sea

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Author:	inkie
Summary:	At Fallon House in early August, an immersion ceremony is held for Lady Ery Blanche Arielle Esprit Fallon. (Subtitled: inkie invents more Kul Tiran sh*t.)
Rating:	T for Teen

It is before dawn on this early-August morning; the day promises to be clear and fair. For now it is still cool, the air a velvety twilit hue, and the grass is damp underfoot, soaking trouser cuffs and trailing skirt hems. Behind the little procession that makes its way toward the cliff path down to the beach, the eastern sky over the hills and trees of Elwynn is a slow-spreading halo of soft rose light as the sun lifts its face toward the horizon. Ahead of the party, over the western sea, the sky is still a deep blue, though the stars have begun to fade. The tide is coming in, nearly at full, and the beach is a narrow strand only a dozen or so paces across before the water's restless edge.

At the head of the group walks the tidesage Brother Eli; he wears his coarse dark green robes, a sash of hempen rope around his waist. He has his hands folded together inside his draping sleeves, and he gazes out toward the sea as they walk, his expression serene.

Siamus follows behind him, unsmiling, his dark gaze sober. He is barefoot and dressed casually, the sleeves of his linen shirt rolled, the collar unbuttoned just enough to display the two tokens he wears on cords around his neck: the kraken medallion and the bronze anchor pendant. At the moment, the anchor pendant is clutched in the chubby fist of Lady Ery Blanche Arielle Parrish Esprit Fallon as her father carries her down toward the water. She is seated upright in his arms with a small and queenly black-eyed dignity that says she is prepared to be outraged about anything at any minute now, go on, try her.

Ery's attitude no doubt began earlier when she was set into her immersion dress — an extraordinary rendition of the rare blue pearl, the sheen created by expensive mooncloth dyed specifically to the shades, the cut of the dress smoothing and softening, accentuating the roundness of the four-month-old, until she has become mostly an adorable little circle, the prophecy of the unblemished pearl of House Fallon passed on from mother to daughter.

At Siamus' side is Avrenne, dressed in no uncertain terms as a representation of the concept of the Jewel of House Fallon in a greater specificity now, an off-the-shoulder bodice of scintillating sapphire panels cut uniquely to be both hard lined geometric angles and flowing facets caught by a tide and swept around the center of her belly, the skirt flowing into draping soft layers of blue to white, a mimicry of the sea foam that shows flashes of her legs as she walks, barefoot as her husband, the colors of the dawn caught in the sheerer fabric and set aglow. Her arms are unusually uncovered, the scars of her forearms fully visible, and her hair cascades down her back behind her, the fine straight strands lifting in the sea breeze. One can only assume it is waterproof.

Today seems to be a day in which strict precedence does not apply; directly behind the Fallons, the maids Moirin and Lyra go together arm-in-arm, with an anticipatory, festival air. They are both wearing loose linen smock dresses embroidered with delicate ferns and flowers. Only someone both very familiar with flowers and attentive to detail might note that the blossoms appear to be little white and blue star moss clusters, spiky, many-petaled sea stalk, and the graceful lilac buds of siren's sting: all wildflowers native to Kul Tiras. Lyra's black hair has been braided with green and lilac yarn woven in; Moirin wears a lopsided crown of golden compass flowers.

Ralaea is right in the middle of the group, dressed in her usual, casual clothes, a dark long sleeved shirt and dark pants. Does she even own anything else? Unlikely. She is barefoot like the others.

Farther back walks Lena, in a sleeveless light blue dress that reaches down to her calves. Her hair is tied back with a blue ribbon at the nape of her neck, and she's wearing no jewelry and little cosmetics. She's barefoot as well, and watching the others in the procession carefully for cues to fit in.

Next to Lena — though without comment or seeming intention — is Shine. He is also casually-dressed and barefoot, his shirtsleeves rolled; his tattooed forearms are on display, though his hands are tucked in his pockets at the moment. Framed in the collar of his shirt is a leather cord with a bronze anchor pendant, twin to Siamus'. His gaze is fixed on the sea ahead, but there is a sort of alertness about him that suggests he is paying attention to more than just what he's looking at.

Dragging behind Lena and Shine as if pulled only by Avrenne's force of personality, and still trailing this far behind, are Avrenne's three wards: Finley, Isla, and Otto. Finley has dressed for the occasion in appropriate wear for a seaside visit, his shirt folded up over wiry forearms, and pants already pushed up in anticipation of the water's edge with his pale feet bare. His hair is a wild toss, and he stares blearily ahead as he holds onto Isla to keep her steady over the sand.

A precaution that is necessary, as the teenager weaves a little in and out of balance, her eyes repeatedly drifting closed as she walks in micronaps. Her hair hasn't been braided, allowed to remain down for the informality, and it drapes down her in a tumble over a soft undyed cotton dress that hits to below her knees that may or may not be a nightgown. It's possible the sense that it is comes mostly from the rest of her. It's possible she forgot to put on another dress that would be seawater compatible. Who can say? (Avrenne can, but she's leaving it alone.)

Otto is dressed like he's off to garden in deep mud, with thick rubber boots and overalls tucked into them, a long sleeved shirt that ends in gardening gloves. His strawberry blonde hair is a dawn colored halo around his angelically sleepy face, his eyes half closed as he walks smiling down with the others, one hand holding onto the back of Finley's shirt in lieu of holding someone's hand.

Trailing at the very back of the group are Burren and Thredd, Burren with his hands in his pockets and Thredd with his clasped behind his back. Their relaxed and jovial manner suggests the pair of them might be on a companionable amble to the pub.

As they reach the water itself, Brother Eli halts and turns to face the others, smiling. He spreads his hands in a gesture of benediction, and Siamus stops directly before him, Avrenne at his side. The other Kul Tirans spread out to either side of them, forming a rough semi-circle. Moirin takes it upon herself to whisper-point Finley and his charges into proper place. Lyra lets go of her friend's arm to go and stand with her brother; she takes his arm instead, and rests her head happily against his shoulder, watching the Fallons and the tidesage.

Shine glances at Lena and with a tilt of his head indicates silently that she should come with him to take up position at one end of the group.

Ery has turned to look outward at the water as they approached it. Now that they have stopped only a few feet away, she lets go of her father's necklace and points her chubby, starfish-splayed hand out toward the water. She blows a raspberry and bounces up and down in Siamus' arms, the most dignified little pearl.

Siamus is trying very hard not to smile.

Lyra laughs.

Avrenne hides her own smile more successfully.

Isla, on some social autopilot, nods and blows a raspberry back sleepily. Ceremony!

Finley clears his throat harshly, and leans down to whisper something to her. That wakes Isla up enough for her to hiss something back, irritation obvious, a sudden storm about to erupt. The commotion draws Avrenne's attention, and she raises her brows in a motherly warning to both of them, moving her hands to a clasp in front of her. Finley and Isla mutter near matching apologies, subsiding.

Lena smiles, something a little wistful in her expression, and then she follows Shine's lead to take up position at the side of the group.

Brother Eli lowers his hands, clasping them before him. "Who brings this child of the sea before her ancient mother, to know and be known by Her, to give Her honor and to receive Her gifts?"

"We do," says Siamus, and adjusts the squirmy pearl-child in his arms to get a better hold on her. "Her father and mother."

"And who will bear witness and ask for the blessing of this child?"

"We will," choruses the Tirasian contingent — the two maids, Shine, Thredd and Burren — in ragged not-exactly-unison.

Ralaea’s words match nearly in time with the Tirasians, a fierce pride to the tone of it. No one probably told her the words, but it’s obvious, right? What else would they be here for?

A beat behind are Avrenne's wards. Otto's lips move at least. It's unclear if it's voiced, but an attempt is made. Maybe it's the spirit of the thing that counts.

Lena mouths the response after the Tirasians do, but doesn't make a sound.

Brother Eli nods gravely. He turns away to face the water, and raises his hands. "Hear us!" he calls.

The tidesage's rasping voice is not loud but it seems to carry, rolling across the surface of the water until it dies. The breeze drops until the only remaining sound is the murmur of the waves. The murmur of the waves and Ery, that is; she blows another raspberry and stretches toward the sea with both hands. Siamus puts a steadying hand on her back.

Without looking back, Eli wades out into the water. Siamus follows him unhesitating and Ery shrieks joyfully and bounces some more.

Avrenne moves in sync with Siamus, one hand moving out to set lightly against his arm as he holds onto the squirming baby, her expression composed into genuinely respectful lines, her walk as regal as if she were meeting the king of Stormwind, solemn and serene. Her dress floats out around her like a personal foam as she steps into the sea without hesitation, no sense of how cold the morning water must feel.

With another tilt of his head, Shine suggests silently to Lena that they should follow; the rest of the Tirasians are already milling forward.

Lena follows, not bothering to raise the hem of her dress. She was expecting seawater to be involved.

The moment Ralaea’s toes meet the ocean, she straightens in an almost electrified alertness, the shock of the water washing away whatever sleepiness she might have been holding onto. She is practically vibrating with excitement. This is a Kul Tiran ritual. She’s being a Kul Tiran right now.

Finley tows along his two charges, blinking repeatedly as the salty air stings his eyes, his jaw moving as he represses a yawn ruthlessly as if to admit to needing to yawn would carry with it a death sentence.

Isla yawns hugely next to him. It's so early.

Eli leads them out to a depth that is just above the knee for Siamus and Shine. It is a little higher for the smaller people, but Moirin and Lyra at least do not seem fazed by this.

Avrenne is unfazed, her attention split between Siamus with Ery and Eli, standing confidently in the water as she did on her wedding day, her hand on Siamus steadying as much as keeping her own steadiness.

The water is fairly high on Ralaea, but she does not look deterred. In fact, there is a look in her eyes like she could keep going. Swim out into the ocean and never stop, until she reaches a certain land on the other side.

Shine glances down toward Lena assessingly and then offers his arm, just in case.

Lena's skirt is billowing out a little in the water, but she doesn't seem to be having trouble standing. She touches his arm briefly, a thanks for the offer, but continues to stand on her own.

Shine nods courteously and rescinds the offer.

Isla shuffles back and forth a little in the cold water, clinging more obviously to Finley as the waves repeatedly disrupt her balance slightly.

Otto stomps down once or twice with the waves, and stops moving into the water to where his boots would fill up with them if he keeps going, watching. He's now not holding onto anyone, but he seems okay with it, smiling a little at Eli, because he seems to be doing Things, so Otto is watching.

Lena waits to see what will happen next.

“Mother of tides; mother of the world; mother of all — this child of the sea is brought before you by her kin in blood and word, who would have her know and be known by you.”

As Eli speaks, even the sea seems to quiet; the waves subside around them to a gentle back-and-forth swing, as though they stand in a wind-ruffled lake rather than the edge of the sea.

Ery squirms in her father’s arms and makes a noise of protest.

Brother Eli turns to face Siamus and the impatient infant. From his rope sash, he draws a long, thin sliver of forged steel, with a curious triangular point: a sailmaker’s needle. He reaches for the infant. “From blood and salt water, she was born.”

Ery stops fussing in her father’s arms when this stranger takes her wrist, and stares at him with bug-eyed infant uncertainty.

Brother Eli draws the needle's point down the soft inside of the baby’s forearm; it leaves a faint red scratch, the skin unbroken, until the very end of the mark where a single red drop wells up.

Ery screams. She bellows for all her baby lungs are worth, flailing her offended arm to smack wildly at the man with the needle, at her father who allowed the needle to happen, at anyone in range of a tiny chubby fist. (There’s no one in range, really, apart from those two guys.) The water around the group is troubled again by a small flurry of agitated waves, and a larger swell jostles into Siamus and Eli and Avrenne, setting even Siamus briefly off-balance.

Ery flaps her arms and roars, her squinched face redder than the tiny smear the droplet has left on her arm.

Lena holds her hands out for balance as the edges of the flurry of waves hit her, from water that seems troubled by the screaming baby.

Ralaea braces herself against the waves, her eyes locked on Ery in concern. No one told her they were going to hurt the baby. She sets her jaw and watches in silence.

Avrenne steps towards the baby's rage rather than away, reaching out both hands to hold onto Ery's shoulders, a center of enforced motherly calm, no panic or outrage.

"Shhh, shh shh," she soothes. "Shhh, shh shh." It's a refrain Ery has heard hundreds of times already, often while at the breast, a soft reminder of safety and quiet. "It's all right, dearest. You're safe. We have you. Shhh, shh shh. Shhh, shh shh."

Ery is, for some reason, not entirely mollified by her mother's gentle reassurance, but she does ratchet down from the white-hot fury of a thousand baby suns to maybe like a hundred suns. The waves continue to slosh restlessly.

Eli slips the needle back into his rope sash and reaches for the baby. As Siamus hands her over and she realizes that she is leaving Dad and going to Needle Guy, Ery begins to flap her arms and squall anew, kicking her feet futilely. Brother Eli clearly has some long experience holding on to outraged infants, however, because his grip on her is calm and steady. He turns her to face out toward the sea and holds her up, Lion King-style. "By blood and salt water, she is named: Ery Blanche Arielle Parrish Esprit Fallon."

Siamus, standing silently by, takes Avrenne's hand.

Brother Eli holds Ery aloft a moment more, and then — whoosh! — he dunks her into the water.

It seems probable that most Tirasian babies undergoing this rite are not exactly calmer when they emerge from dunking, so clearly Ery Blanche Arielle Parrish Esprit Fallon is not Most Tirasian Babies. She emerges trailing seawater and cooing, smacking with happy relish at the water's surface as the tidesage lifts her free of it. The outrage of Needle Injury has been forgotten in the joy of Ocean Dip.

Tiny ripples in the water move not away from but toward the infant as she is lifted, as if attempting to cling to her.

Ralaea’s eyes widen at the behavior of the water, and she whips her head around to look at the other Tirasians. Are they seeing this? Unlike everyone else present, Ralaea has not seen a Tidesage in action.

Lena is smiling faintly at the infant with water powers, but she does not seem overly surprised.

Avrenne holds onto Siamus' hand, her skin unwarmed by her inner fire, leaning against him and watching as Ery meets the water. There's a distinctly proud tilting of her chin as Ery emerges victorious.

Siamus's expression is radiant with pride as he watches his daughter. He squeezes Avrenne's hand gently.

Shine is grinning.

Finley has his hands full of Isla, keeping her upright as the ocean moves around them going still and then not. Isla is making it much more difficult for Finley by trying to clasp her hands to her chest — she's still holding onto Finley’s arm. "Oh!" Is all she says but it's an emotional declaration.

Otto sways peacefully with the water. It's the ocean. It moves. He knows this. He leans down to pat the water when Ery does. It's good water.

Moirin and Lyra reach into their smock-dress pockets and produce (somewhat smashed) fistfuls of petals, blue and yellow and red and white, and fling them into the air. The breeze is not altogether cooperative, and many of the petals end up on the young women and in the hair of the people around them, but a respectable quantity manages to scatter on the water's surface: a wild, joyful confetti.

Brother Eli turns to face the group, holding the now-gleeful baby aloft once more. Ery is paddling with her feet as though she thinks to reach the water again that way, and there are still ripples chasing after her. "And what gifts would her kin ask for the child?" the tidesage asks.

Lyra, unable to contain herself, shouts, "Great beauty!"

Siamus casts a censorious look at the maid over his shoulder, but there's no real disapproval in it, and warmth in his gaze. He turns back and says, "Courage."

"Loyalty," offers Shine.

"A quick wit," supplies Moirin.

Thredd says something utterly unintelligible to the non-Kul Tiran contingent; Lyra turns red and the other Tirasians laugh.

Avrenne's expression ripples like the water around them, and her shoulders square off, her head held high, her eyes flicking from the baby to the open sea and back again. "Resilience," she says, her voice carrying over the water. Quieter, nearly a whisper, she adds, "Be unbreakable, dearest."

Siamus looks down at her and squeezes his wife's hand again.

"Adaptability," Lena says quietly, addressing the sea more than anyone present.

Ralaea hesitates. There is an obvious answer, the first one that comes to her lips, but she doesn’t say it. Instead, her expression takes on a sense of vulnerability, and the word she says comes from a deeper place. “Family,” she says at last. “May she always have family, wherever she goes.”

Isla bursts into loud sobbing, as Finley attempts to comfort and shush her simultaneously. All Isla can say back to him, however, is "Family."

Avrenne just swallows her feelings down, where the feelings go, holding onto Siamus tighter. If her eyes are a little brighter in the early morning light, it's just the pregnancy, okay.

Lena glances over at Ralaea when she speaks, and there's a brief flicker of pain in her expression before she carefully covers it with a polite smile.

Otto offers, in a wispy voice, "Shells." He knows what's up, Ery.

Siamus is gazing over at Rae, his dark eyes soft and serious. He doesn't look away until Brother Eli says, "May it be so."

The tidesage lifts Ery again and addresses her directly. "Child of the sea, these are the blessings your kin would offer ye. May the tides bring ye these and more, and may ye travel all your days through calm and storm alike in the shelter of their love and good wishes."

"BOH," says Ery sternly, and tries to smack Brother Eli in the nose.

Smiling, he steps forward and offers her back to her father. Siamus releases Avrenne's hand to reach for their daughter.

Avrenne sets her hands together in a clasp, standing proud in the water, bending gently with the waves.

Lena smiles at the baby's violence, something a little wistful in her eyes.

Ralaea tries to tuck her vulnerability back away now that the ritual is over, but if she could hide her thoughts that easily, she wouldn’t be a Westwind. She settles for her usual glower, crossing her arms almost protectively around herself.

Isla has shifted from crying to sniffling and pointing at the Strange Waves following Ery. Finley regards the waves with wary, guarded suspicion.

Otto reaches down into the water to pluck up a white half clam shell, smiling softly at Ery. Look, it's working already, small Lady Baby.

Siamus turns back to the group, Ery bouncing impatiently in his arms again and grasping indiscriminately at his face. He leans back a little before a baby-claw can grab his nose. "And now there's breakfast for any who'll stay." He gestures with his free hand toward the beach, where sure enough, Cook and Vane and Catrin have discreetly appeared to set out a picnic on the sand as the tide gradually draws back toward the brightening western sky.

Ery shrieks and a little wave sloshes up against Siamus's side; he's prepared this time, and his balance doesn't shift. He glances down and offers Avrenne his arm as though they are about to enter a ballroom and not wade out of the ocean for a sandy breakfast picnic.

Avrenne takes his arm with that elegance that suggests that regardless of where everyone else is, she is at a formal, solemn event to celebrate their daughter's Immersion into the great wonder of the ocean, and now will break their fast in honor of it.

Isla cries out like a seagull that just spotted a beach goer with an unprotected sandwich, "Picnic!" and crashes forward towards the shore, dragging Finley with her.

Lena laughs at Isla's reaction and starts wading out of the water towards the food, holding her skirt in one hand.

Ralaea doesn’t start shivering until she’s out of the water, but as soon as she is, she starts looking longingly back to it, as if going back will somehow make her chill go away.

Avrenne's eyes flick to the movement of the shiver, and her voice carries over the sound of the surf, "Ralaea, it would be best to dry your clothes and drink something warm before you settle in to eat. The cloth blends do leech body heat significantly when they are wet. If you come here, I can take care of the worst of the damp," she suggests in a motherly tone that says she will let Ralaea choose if she wants to make that mistake of not dealing with wet cloth on a cool morning, but it is not recommended. Avrenne's own dress appears as dry as it was when she walked out of the house that day.

After a quick glance around at everyone else, Ralaea holds her arms tighter to herself. She does not want to be the only one being helped. “I’m fine,” she says. “I dealt with this all the time when I was on squad in Zangarmarsh. It’s wet there, and we swam a lot.” She does not mention that they also had Cressidha to help dry them off, or that the active nature of being on squad helped ward off the feelings of cold.

Lena lets her skirts fall and cling to her legs as her feet pick up sand on the way to the picnic. She turns to Shine and says with a faint smile, "I expect the immersed is not usually quite as… active, in the ceremony?"

Shine had dropped back a step, hands in his pockets, to walk beside Brother Eli. He flashes Lena a quick, rueful smile. "There's usually a deal more crying and a deal less… interaction, aye. Our little Lady Ery is an exceptional case."

Beside him, Brother Eli says dryly, "She takes after her father somewhat. He was happy as a seal to go in the water, furious about the rest of it. And he spit up on Brother Mathis."

Siamus keeps his face turned away so that no one in the conversation can see his expression at this flattering recollection. He may be pretending he hasn't heard it. Instead, he looks over at Rae. "Ralaea," he says. "Would ye care to take Ery for a minute so I can get a hand free?"

Go on, Rae, hug a fat bouncy baby. She is warm. And vigorous.

Ralaea brightens. “Can I really?” she asks, hurrying over to take Ery.

Otto moves closer, holding his shell with both hands, waiting for the baby pass off, perhaps, to offer it to Ery. "Do you want to be cold and wet because it reminds you of being cold and wet in Zangarmarsh and you liked it there?" He asks Ralaea. Sometimes a person wants a memory. Otto understands. Maybe.

Ralaea hesitates. “I didn’t like Zangarmash.” There is a weird pause, almost as if there is a but coming, her mind flashing to a memory of a different time. Her eyes fill with grief, longing, and, distantly, anger.

Siamus knows exactly how to distract someone who is suffering from Feelings, fortunately — well, he knows several ways, but the appropriate one in these circumstances is: hand them a baby. He shifts to offer Ery over.

The child leans happily toward her newest Ery-Bearer, reaching out with grabby hands. "Po!" she instructs Rae, and immediately complicates the handoff by resuming her leg-swinging bounces with fresh vigor.

Lena watches Rae with baby Ery for a moment with that same touch of wistfulness, and then she shivers and turns back toward the picnic.

“What’s ‘po?’” Ralaea asks, attempting to get a proper hold on the lively baby. “Does she… want something?” It has, apparently, been some time since she has handled a baby.

"'Po' means either that she likes to hear herself talk or that she believes she is assuming command of this operation. Possibly both, in which case she’s ready for the Admiralty," Siamus says.

Otto offers up the shell to Ery. Maybe this is Po? Or her first symbolic honorary command of the Admiralty? Both? Who can say.

Siamus, having been dismissed by the Baby Admiral, escorts Avrenne up the beach toward the picnic.

Shine jogs a step ahead of Brother Eli to catch up with Lena. If he caught her look at the baby, he does not remark on it, but ambles with her toward the picnic.

Lena glances over at Shine with a smile as they reach the picnic. "Reckon the sun will chase the chill away, soon enough."

"I didn't bring a jacket," he says ruefully. "Or I'd lend ye." He glances up at the sky. "But aye, it'll be warm enough soon enough."

Lena nods, taking a step closer to him. "I'm glad I came. Should I have offered blood, do you think, at the shrine?"

Shine clasps his hands behind his back and considers this. "I couldn't tell ye for certain, but ye could ask Eli. I've only seen blood offered at an immersion. But I'm neither a sage nor a theologian."

From behind them, Brother Eli asks, "Are ye one of the Tidemother's, Miss Coit?"

Lena glances back to Brother Eli and says mildly, "I think I'd like to be, if she'll have me."

"She could hardly do otherwise; we're all Hers already," Eli says. "But if ye wish to acknowledge Her formally, it's never too late for an immersion yourself." He spreads his hands mildly and smiles.

Lena glances back at Eli curiously, "I thought that was more of a thing for babies, not grown folk."

"Ye hear of it wi'babies and not grown folk because in Kul Tiras it's mostly done for babies soon after birth, so the grown folk don't need it. But na harm in an adult making her faith formal, and declaring herself to the sea."

"She's already been acquainted," says Shine mildly. "And she's already sailed a fair deal with Fallon."

The tidesage makes another spread-handed, genial shrug. "As the lady likes, a'course." He looks past the pair toward the picnic. "Ah!" he says. "Smoked salmon." He moves around them toward a blanket, not quite as eagerly as Isla — or maybe as eagerly but marginally more dignified.

Ery, meanwhile, accepts the shell from Otto happily and waves it up and down for a moment. Then she presses it solemnly against Ralaea's face. Look, Rae, she has a shell. Enjoy her shell with her.

Ralaea takes the shell in the face like a champion. Or maybe she is too stunned to move. “That… sure is a shell,” she tries, moving her face as little as possible.

Otto stands next to Ralaea, nodding. It sure is a shell. "Does it feel like a shell even when you can't see it?"

"Po," agrees Ery, very pleased, and blows a raspberry. She takes the shell off Rae's face and waves it up and down emphatically again, and then puts it in her mouth.

Avrenne continues on her path with Siamus towards the picnic, stately and elegantly, as if she is aware of the judge standing off to the side, measuring the decorum.

Isla will be getting no marks in decorum; she is, however, getting in on this picnic, having plopped down in a heap of wet dress. Finley scolds her in a tight whisper, as he forces a towel around her shoulders.

"It's just sea water, Lee! I'm not even cold," Isla says defiantly. "My dress is just wet. Those aren't the same things!"

Finley scoffs, and looks over at Avrenne, who raises both her brows back. Whatever her face says to Finley makes him clench his teeth together, and cross his arms over his chest as he hunches his shoulders.

Siamus leads Avrenne to a spot on the blanket where Vane has solicitously arranged a cushion, and Catrin appears immediately with a cup of tea, plain, for Her Grace.

Shine stoops to collect a towel and offers it to Lena for a shawl. Lyra, standing nearby, giggles and whispers something to Moirin, who glances over at the two.

Lena smiles at Shine and draws the towel-shawl around her shoulders. In a lower voice, she says, "I wouldn't want to make a big fuss or anything, but I'll think on it. For now, though, breakfast?"