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| Details |
| Author: | Athena |
| Summary: | On a fine for sailing day, Siamus departs for a sea voyage to investigate the southern waters, his first since before the Twin! Boys! were born. Avrenne has his schedule to keep, and it includes a fond farewell to his three children, including one with her own boat tactics (which need some revisions based in better naval warfare practices) and some strong words, just like her father. 5200~ words. |
| Rating: | T for Teen |
Chain: Siarenne
It's a lovely spring day for sailing out of Fallon Harbor, which is to say that the actual weather matters not at all in specifics, clear or cloudy, calm or stormy, the Lady Blanche will sail out regardless, her captain reveling in it with the elation of a man with the sea flowing through his veins.
So it has been a morning partaking of joy (in some cases more metaphorical from the distribution of nicknames), and at last the business of the final preparations to send of Admiral Fallon have commenced.
When Lady Fallon returns to Siamus' room after time to freshen up from the last intimate goodbye, and redress for the final time, he could be pardoned for having a moment of déjà vu.
He has seen this woman dressed as she is once before, although it was before he called her wife: she is clad in the jade green dress she wore on his night of victory of securing the House of Nobles seat, a mermaid silhouette with Sophie's unusual embroidery that glitters in shades of black and gold; the neckline is low, and the sleeves gentle caps, and she wears the gold gloves that hide her scars.
Her eyes have been outlined in kohl, darkly intense as they were, but her hair is not yet pinned up, a gold wave down her back.
And of course at her throat is the jade and zandalari necklace, the one salvaged at sea years ago and won by the Lady Fallon at the Charity Gala, worn exactly as she did that night of celebration when he told her the story of how he came by the particular piece. The smile on her face is conspiratorial, a remembered story held close, a support intrinsic in the piece of the past.
There are differences, here and there. She is not the same shape she was then, larger and softer. But so also is she brighter than she was then, her expression aglow as she makes her way back to him.
Siamus has just donned his uniform coat and is adjusting his shirt-cuffs when his Lady returns. He catches sight of her reflected over his shoulder in his dressing room mirror and smiles at the reflection, and then he turns around to smile at her. "My Lady of Victory, are ye?"
He finishes straightening his cuffs and crosses the room to meet her. "I do believe the tides meant ye to have that necklace, pet. It couldn't have found itself a more flattering setting." He lifts his hand to brush his knuckles lightly against her breastbone. "Shall I see if I can find ye earrings to match while we're down there?"
Avrenne smiles up at him. "A little something salvaged at sea to perfect the picture," she says, half-teasing, half-serious. It's true; she has no perfect earrings for this set, and she wears none today.
She smooths out his coat with both hands, brushes a line across and then perpendicular down, and then repeats it as if she can't quite help herself. His coat is a smooth as it's going to get, Avrenne. With effort and faint flickers around her eyes, she halts the motion, resting her palms flat against his chest, one hand over the alyssum compass tattoo.
"Do you think it likely that you will find a pair of earrings to salvage?"
"The Grand Admiral directed me not to engage with the Zandalari if I encounter them," Siamus says seriously. He does not say whether he is good at following directions. "Of course," he adds with a slow, sly smile, "I didn't fetch the necklace itself off a Zandalari ship. We'll see what's in the water for my mermaid, aye?"
"Precisely." She adjusts the lay of the collar of his coat, unnecessarily, fingers lingering in a light touch along the edges. "Though, perhaps we will be especially fortunate, and what will be in the water will be enemy ships that can be captured," she says with the sort of longing and yearning most people use for discussing a much desired lover that has been kept tantalizingly out of reach.
"I believe pirates as well as trolls may be in season, now that ye mention it," Siamus says with that tilted smile. "Though I wouldn't personally want to sail either a pirate or a troll vessel anywhere. But we can always rebuild a few, or take them apart for salvage. I'll see what I can bring Your Grace."
There it is again — a brief flash of something in her eyes at the mention of pirates, a cold and dark thing that lives deep inside her — and then it's blinked away.
Avrenne 'War Machines, Siege Weaponry, and Naval Forces All Count As Perfectly Lovely Tokens Of Affection' Esprit Fallon smiles up at her husband approvingly. "In turn, you may rest well assured that while you are away, I won't let it be forgotten that we must take measures to rebuild our navy through all means possible," she says. She probably will do it with a lot less yelling, admittedly.
"We might even say that it could certainly help answer some questions that persist from some members of the House of where we might obtain more resources if we can restore to their proper places in the Alliance that which was unrightfully taken by thieves and profiteers. And thus a rebuilt navy set upon these tasks could replenish itself. There are more places for timber and canvas in the forests of the sea, after all," she says.
You can just imagine her weaving that spin for those involved in the treasury allocations. See? If we had more ships to take more pirate ships to have more ships, then we could rebuild a navy through exponential math.
It's math. Siamus gets it. He nods approval and lifts a hand to cup her cheek. "Don't let Finster talk Wearing around on those tariffs while I'm gone," he murmurs, dark-eyed. It's so sexy when the wife does politics.
There's a slight incongruity from the steadiness with which she holds herself, and the near-desperate way she reaches up to set her hand lightly against the back of his, as if he might have abruptly vanished if she hadn't held him there just now.
"I won't," she promises. "In fact, I think that if Lord Finster were to have another look at them with the guiding expertise of a different perspective on the numbers and considerations that they stem from, that he will come to realize that, actually, he has every reason to be in agreement with you on them." It's witchcraft.
Siamus smiles slowly at her. He bends to kiss her forehead and then her lips. He lingers over the kiss, and for a moment it seems like — no, Siamus, you're on a deadline. You did that already. Siamus, no.
He draws back reluctantly. "My good girl," he softly. "My mermaid. I leave it well in your hands, then."
In the hallway outside, something goes CLACK CLACK CLACK CLACKCLACKCLACK.
For a moment, it's obvious from the weight of her attention on him that the world has narrowed to him, the rest of everything else dropped away, and neither time nor place really exists except as centered on him.
Avrenne's attention breaks at the sound, her eyes flicking in a direct line towards it, and recognition settling in so quickly that the surprise barely has time to start showing on her face before it's subsumed by fondness.
"Oh, there she is," she says with a mother's indulgence. She presses her cheek into the cup of his hand. "Shall we catch her before she makes it all the way to the stairs?" The stairs and the potential to send the CLACKER down said stairs for New Bonus Clacking Sounds more accurately.
"She might break the thing if she does," Siamus observes. It is unclear whether this is concern or hope. But he steps away from Avrenne to go to the door.
In the hall, a bipedal Ery does a vigorous sort of knee-bent bouncing in place. The Ery-bearers! She has summoned them! As her father approaches, she squats to clumsily collect the wheeled wooden boat, and then she rises expectantly and holds both arms up, boat in hand. Papa has been promoted to Ery-and-Boat-bearer.
Siamus does not seem to object to this role, and bends indulgently to pick up Ery-and-Boat. "Ye certainly make a racket," he tells the child. His tone implies that of all the rackets one might make, Ery's racket is the finest racket, truly top-notch racketing.
"I think she is still puzzling out how to maximize the efficiency for the greatest potential output, aren't you, dearest?" Avrenne asks the one-year-old, who surely understands this sentence on a meaningful level, as she brushes a maternal hand over the platinum curls. "Discovery requires a willingness to experiment with new techniques and different angles of approach, and a boldness to pursue that discovery, even in the face of opposition of those who would wish one to be quieter."
Look, she even does PR spin for toddlers.
Siamus nods. "A bold little lady," he tells his daughter seriously.
"Hompaka," she replies equally seriously, and then attempts to whack his shoulder with the boat.
There are some limits to the amount of violence Siamus admires in a lady, and being whacked with wooden pull-toys is on the wrong side of that line; fortunately, he has better reflexes than a one-year-old, and manages to intercept her. "Ery Blanche," he tells her firmly. "Ye can't go hitting people with boats."
Probably because it's disrespectful of the boat or something.
"It's true, dearest," Avrenne agrees. "Even in other circumstances, ram strategies in naval warfare hypothesized to be effective against ironclad ships have not been mathematically proven to be a tactically sound approach, as physics demands that the object being rammed must be stopped entirely to be truly useful, a situation that rarely arises naturally."
In this House, it's never too early to start imparting the wisdom of military tactics and strategies through math and physics.
"And hitting a person with a wooden object of this sort will cause pain, so it's best not to hit people with anything of this sort," Avrenne adds (helpfully?). "You don't want to hurt your father, after all."
Siamus casts his wife a distracted — and somewhat heated — look. He may be contemplating more effective ramming strategies.
"DOH," says Ery. It sounds more like a threat than a mea culpa.
"Ye heard your mother," Siamus tells her. "It's tactically unsound, not to mention a waste of a firing angle or a clean boarding. Never let me catch ye having to cut away your own sails or rigging for having tangled wi'the enemy. Nor hitting people with toys."
Avrenne smiles at Siamus, a bright warmth of admiration and affection both, smoothing back Ery's curls again before she reaches into Siamus' pocket — did she need to stroke her hand along that angle that maximized how much she touched him, probably not, but here we are — and opens the watch to check the time. Whatever it says doesn't thrill her, and she returns the watch to its proper place.
"Now, Ery, you must send your father off properly. He has a schedule to keep to, so it would be best to say farewell now," Avrenne informs the one-year-old. The smile she wears now has a touch of something to it, little flickers around her eyes.
Ery swivels her head to eye her father suspiciously. She senses a disturbance in the Force.
"I won't be gone long," Siamus reassures the child who absolutely does not understand him. Perhaps it is for someone else's benefit. "But I won't be back from goblin waters empty-handed, either." Yeah, that's definitely for someone else's benefit. He leans in to kiss Ery on the cheek. She gives a squeal of protest and attempts to fend him off with a boat.
Avrenne, proving that she is a lady who knows how to get her hands on a boat when necessary, uses the angles of applied force and momentum to intercept the boat and pull it from Ery's grasp before it can make contact with something precious, like Siamus' face.
"Dearest, the boat is not for defense or offense, as previously stated. It's best used for its intended purpose," Avrenne tells her young child who has had only one year of exposure to speech in context. She bends to place it back on the ground, pulling it with an expert hand to make two loud CLACK CLACKs.
"AaaaBAH!" Ery shrieks, bouncing in her father's arms. Those are her CLACKs being CLACKed! Theft! Thief! She sprawls sideways in Siamus's hold, reaching both hands down toward her confiscated vessel.
"All right," Siamus soothes her. "All right. But ye must promise me not to plague your mother with noise while I'm away."
Ery promises nothing. Nothing! No promises!
"Oh, I don't mind the noise. I'm glad to hear it, the sound of children being children," Avrenne says with the saint-like benevolent patience of a woman who employs two full-time live in nannies.
But there's an old gray thread of remembered grief that weaves through her voice as she regards Ery in a way that seems like she's seeing someone else in her place. "I remember all too well the unsettling silence of how quiet the children were that first year after the Fall. I would rather the halls be loud than listen to that silence ever again." She brushes that thought away. "There, now. Shall we take the boat back to the nursery, Ery?"
Ery clutches the boat balefully to her chest and does the crouch-legged bounce again. It is unclear this time whether she is excited about something or she is preparing to pounce and maul someone.
Siamus is gazing softly at his wife. "Someday the house will be full of children's voices," he tells her, and then glances down at his daughter. "For now, Ery herself will attempt to make up the difference."
Ery makes a long hooting sound and points her boat imperiously down the hallway. Ery-and-Boat are going that way now, Bearers. Keep up.
It is conveniently the direction of the nursery.
Does Avrenne need an escort to the nursery? No. Is she taking Siamus' arm anyway? Absolutely.
There a sense to the way she touches him that speaks of a deliberate focus on it, as if she is telling a part of herself this is the way his arm feels, this is the substance of how he move, this is how his voice sounds in mental handfuls grasped and stashed into little boxes in her head.
"Well, there's always a chance that Ery will inspire Ralaea," Avrenne says, a teasing note in her voice.
Siamus laughs softly and lays his hand over hers on his arm. And then, because they are in an upstairs corridor with no one but their daughter (and her boat) to see, he bends sideways to kiss the side of her head. "I don't expect us gone longer than a fortnight," he reassures her, in response to nothing she's said. "Unless we engage — unless the Zandalari engage us. In which case ye'll hear it in the dispatches, I'm sure." He pats her hand.
It may not be wholly reassuring to hear that your husband will be home soon unless he gets into a war on his way.
"Of course," she agrees. "I'm being foolish, aren't I?" She smiles slightly, pleased to have been caught, rather than embarrassed. She leans her head against him, a stroll rather than a stately walk. "I've known from the first that I would always need to share you with Her, with the sea. I believe fully that it is right and good for you to go, and that your soul needs it as much as anything else."
She tips her chin up, to look at him, moving forward to the nursery by slow automated steps. "I think it's only that the more I have of you, the longer you stay, the more greedy I become. I want more and more of you." She still smiles at him, but there's a yearning in her eyes, an admittance of vulnerability. "And so, the letting go grows a little more difficult, even knowing full well that you'll come back. That's all."
Siamus stops walking, drawing her to a halt with him, and tips her chin up so that he can bend and kiss her. "And it's harder every time for me to leave ye," he murmurs. "But then the homecoming's all the sweeter." He lifts his head, smiling half-lidded down at her.
"BEEEE," says Ery. "Beeeeeee." She drops the wooden boat onto the carpet behind her to resume towing it along.
CLACK CLACK CLACKCLACK.
It's a highly romantic atmosphere, is what we're saying.
Avrenne smiles back at him, a soft and warm secret wife, and then she turns her attention to her daughter. "Of course, dearest. We'll come along and get the door," she says, as if Ery had communicated any of this.
Ery expresses patience and gratitude by plopping down on the carpet to repeatedly ram her boat into the nursery door. CLACKCLACKBANG!
"I'll be very glad," says Siamus thoughtfully, "when Shine has children of his own and we can give them toys."
Avrenne laughs, her real laugh, that spins out from her like honey in the air, some innate property that invites him to laugh with her.
"Oh, but should we punish Miss Coit that way is the other question. Perhaps all the toys could conveniently arrive only when she's at sea, and mysteriously disappear when she returns," Avrenne teases. "Although, one does wonder if a child could exist who could outmatch Shine's patience and fortitude to withstand chaos."
Siamus knits his brows. "Ah, that's true. The man's impossible to aggravate." He quirks a smile. "Tides, can ye imagine if their children are all just like their father? The quietest nursery in the kingdoms."
Siamus opens the door for Ery-and-Boat. Ery pauses with the boat mid-roll and looks uncertain. On the one hand, goal achieved. On the other hand, no more BANG?
In the nursery, the movement of the door opening alerts 50% of the room's occupants, namely the two nannies. The two four-month-old twin boys continue making cooing heavy gurgles at each other, wobbling unsteadily on their stomachs as if they can feel the swaying of an unseen ship, smiling at some inside joke being shared on an infant's humor scale level, sparing not even a glance over. Elliot is dressed in navy blue, and Eamon in dark maroon, an ongoing attempt to help to tell the twins apart.
Francine tilts her head to look over her glasses at first Ery, and then the Fallons. She sits in one of the chairs, her hands kept busy working on a thick yarn knitting creation. She acknowledges the group with a prim nod.
Emelia sits on the floor with the babies, caught mid encouragement of them doing so well. "Ery! You came back to the nursery! That is such good walking and finding and coming back! And you brought back your boat!" This enthusiasm is the second place after Isla where all the exclamation points allocated to the House go every financial quarter. "I thiiiink that means we are going to do so well at Clean Up Time today!" She hums a brief tune that must be some sort of Clean Up Song, the melody repeated to attempt to create a toddler cleaning sleeper agent.
"Francine. Emelia." Avrenne greets the nannies, already pulling on that veil of composure.
Siamus gives a courteous, faintly sardonic nod to the two nannies. "Ladies," he greets them, and then turns his attention to his sons. "Gentlemen."
Ery says, "AAAAAA," and picks up her boat to shake it at her infant brothers, then turns and plasters herself aggressively to her father's shins. Stop talking to those guys, Papa. You are an Ery-bearer.
Siamus gazes down at his outraged daughter fondly, and releases Avrenne's arm to stoop and pick her up. Oh no, he's never getting out of here now.
Ery puts her head on his shoulder and sucks her thumb angrily.
Avrenne, for better or worse, is a woman who stays to her course, even in the face of baby reasons to consider.
"The Admiral is near to departure, and so it is time for the children to say farewell to their father," Avrenne informs the nannies, clasping her hands together. The other children in this case are two drooling infants who have no concept of time, departures, arrivals, greetings, or farewells, but that doesn't matter.
It's Francine who puts her knitting away immediately, rising to her feet with sharp economy, sparing Emelia nothing more than a glance as she swoops up Elliot in her wiry muscled grip.
The baby burbles in delight and confusion. Wheeeee, movement. Woah, sometimes he can fly, he still hasn't figured out why or how.
Francine presents the Admiral's son for inspection more than anything. The boy is dressed properly, his hair, nails, and diapers all maintained in ship shape perfection.
Emelia wrings her hands in indecision looking from Ery to Eamon like an agitated squirrel with a nut that might be a rock, or a rock that might be a nut, before she picks Eamon up, and bounces him next to his brother. "It's bye-bye time, Eamon. Can you say bye-bye? Bye-bye," she coos at him, waving her free hand as she demonstrates bye-bye.
He cannot say bye-bye. He utters a snotty, drooly grunt of protest, bottom lip stuck out and starting to quiver. Nooo, the blanket, his blanket, he was on the blanket, why is this happening to him? This world is so confusing.
Avrenne nods with approval. Good, yes. Here are the babies. How she expects them to bid their father farewell is unclear, but perhaps she's just assuming this is close enough.
Siamus surveys his sons as though they are a pair of very short midshipmen turned out on deck for his inspection. "Good lads," he tells them, with warmer approbation than is standard in a commanding officer. "Ye behave yourselves for your mother, aye? I'll be home soon."
They are unlikely to notice you are gone, Siamus.
Elliot frog bounces his legs in and out in Francine's no-nonsense hold, as he gurgle-shriek laughs, like Siamus just told a delightful little in-joke. Haha, hilarious, Father. Or maybe he just likes being up this high. Unclear.
Eamon continues his warning of imminent baby sobbing, his whole face crinkling in preparation, as he makes a noise like a creaking stair.
Avrenne reaches out for Eamon because she has one (1) move in these situations, and luckily for her, it usually works with babies, as she gathers her youngest to her, setting his head against her shoulder, and petting his hair. Eamon, for many reasons, calms quickly, with several wheezy grunts. "Oh, dearest, as he says, he'll be home again soon, shhhh, shhh shhh. There we are. We'll stay here, now, and he'll be back all the sooner."
The fact that she says it, and looks over at Ery as she does, suggests it is soothingly meant for more than one baby in the room.
La la la Ery can't hear you. She takes her slimy thumb out of her mouth and hiccups warningly, presaging a full-throated wail.
Siamus puts his free hand on her back and rocks her a little, and then reaches out to tickle the bottom of one of Elliot's froggy feet. "Ery Blanche," he says confidentially to the child on his shoulder, "ye must be a great help to your mother and the nannies, and look after your baby brothers, aye?"
Ery drops her boat on the floor with a clatter. Is that helpful? She's helping.
It probably says something about both nannies that neither of them even flinch at the noise. They are inured to all baby noises.
Avrenne raised Isla. We know why she doesn't even blink at the sound of something crashing to the floor.
Unfortunately, the twin boys have only been here for a little while and they can still count how many times they've heard a banging sound like that. Elliot startles and hiccup freezes, all wide eyes and confused babe.exe has stopped working. Eamon full throttles the wail of a startled baby like a titansteel motorcycle peeling out of a driveway.
"Oh, oh, oh," Avrenne says, as she bounces the infant in place, swaying like, well, a ship.
"Starfish," Siamus says sternly to Ery, "that was badly done."
Ery lifts her head to scowl at him, and the pressure in the room shifts as a little wind picks up, skittering over the floor.
"Ery Blanche," says Siamus, and the little stirring of wind drops at once, as though a window has been slammed. Ery's eyes go round as she stares at her father, her scowl slipping uncertainly.
"Good," Siamus tells her. "I'm going to set ye down, little tempest, and ye must collect your boat and mind how ye use it." He stoops to set the child on the floor beside her dropped toy.
Ery plops down to a sit and curls one chubby-fingered hand over the boat, but continues to gaze up at her father with uncertainty.
Siamus, meanwhile, beckons to Francine. "I'll take him a moment," he says.
"As you say, sir," Francine agrees, handing over Elliot startled_baby.exe, still hiccupping. He might not have decided yet if he's going to cry about it, but he's not doing it now in the soft, steady hold of his father. This is the good place, safe and warm. He gives a gusty infant sigh of relief, drooping with a babble of smacking gums into the hold. And then he hiccups again.
Meanwhile, Eamon's wailing has dimmed to fast-breath whimpers, and Avrenne sways in her beautiful dress, her hair swishing around her back, and her dark eyes flicking from Siamus to Ery to Siamus. Everything in her body language and expression show complete support for the Admiral's admonishment and subsequent charge of behavior. If she has something else — a question, a wondering about something half felt and unseen — it is held for the moment, neither the time or place to ask it.
Siamus smiles down at his infant son, and hums to him softly a moment. He bends his head to kiss the top of Elliot's fuzzy crown, and then offers him back to Francine before turning to Avrenne and his other son. He lays a hand gently over the top of Eamon's head, and offers a finger to the baby's grasp.
Ery, on the floor, begins sulkily rolling her boat back and forth: clack CLACK. clack CLACK.
Eamon loves fingers to grasp. He closes a chubby hand around Siamus's finger, all his fingers moving at once like an invisible mitten covers his hand. He tries to give it a shake like a rattle.
Francine returns Elliot to his Scheduled Tummy Time, as the duty roster of the shifts in her head dictate. He kicks his legs and laughs. Haha, blanket again! This world is wild.
"I'll stay with them," Avrenne tells Siamus in a soft, low voice.
Siamus lifts his smile to her, leans as if to kiss her, recalls the presences of the nannies. Instead, he smooths his hand down the loose fall of her hair behind her, and rests it on the small of her back. "Your Grace," he acknowledges with quiet warmth. "They're fine children ye've given me, and you the finest mother to them."
(She hires excellent nannies.)
Avrenne arches into the touch first, that inhale of breath, and her eyes flick to his lips, as smiles up at him, a moment of brightness before she dims it to proper ahem, serious amounts. Instead, she kisses Eamon, and sets him down with his brother.
Eamon immediately regales his brother with tales of being picked up off the blanket, and then subjected to the world's strangest bang-clatter-bang, he rode on the Mothership, and then he found a giant finger. Can you believe the things that are out here, bro?
Emelia takes this opportunity to sit back down on the blanket, shaking a rattle between the twins. "Do you hear all the sounds it makes?" The words are chipper and over-enunciated.
Elliot ignores the rattle as he active listens to his brother, cooing and laughing at the funny parts.
Avrenne turns her attention to Ery, regarding the child with raised brows. "What would you like to do, Ery?"
With one hand still on her boat — clickCLACKclickCLACK — Ery reaches the other up, fingers splayed, toward her parents. It may be an entreaty; she may be pointing at them; but it looks like nothing so much as an exasperated, flung-handed gesture meant to indicate them: These two clowns.
"Patabo," she says crossly, and then lets go of the boat to heft herself up on her knees and collapse forward against her father's shin again. "BaBAboDAW!"
"If you come here to me, then I can pick you up, and we can discuss and plan out the most efficient route through the house to maximize where you could take your boat," Avrenne says to her one-year-old. And she says plan, but let's be real: most likely Avrenne already knows the route, and she's just really going to walk Ery through it. "Would you like that, dearest?"
Ery turns her face up toward her mother, glaring — but that's just her face, honestly — and then the lamprey detaches herself from her patient father's leg and plonks to all fours to crawl to her mother. She sits down at Avrenne's feet and stretches both hands up to her. "OP," she demands, glaring. "EY OP NOW."
Avrenne's reflex to open her arms and pick Ery up is what carries her through the motion, holding the toddler on her hip, as she blinks repeatedly, her mouth a soft oh, as she looks immediately to Siamus like a compass pulled suddenly north.
"Did she —?" She starts to ask him, dazed and happy, and then asks Ery, "Did you say up? Up now?"
Emelia claps excitedly.
Francine makes a hmph, as she returns to her knitting.
"OP!" announces Ery triumphantly, gloating down at the twins on their blanket. Look who else knows language, you turnips. "EYY OP!" She leans forward to butt her head gently against her mother.
"Ery," says Siamus wonderingly. "Ery up." He looks at Avrenne, his gaze aglow but a smile twitching at his lips. "Up now. Tides, but you're a creature, starfish."
He lays his hand gently on the toddler's back.
"Ey now," says Ery with satisfaction, nestled against her mother. "NOW."
Avrenne laughs in delight, a sound of a much warmer, brighter woman that envelopes people in it, the blaze of a hearth fire of home, sway-bouncing with Ery. She's sparkling with joy, the not-quite-family audience forgotten.
Elliot rolls onto his back in a full body turnip plop as he laughs. Get a load of this, Eamon.
Eamon rolls over with his brother, kicking his turnip feet. Woah. Ery is Up.
"Yes, that's perfectly right. Ery now," Avrenne confirms. She holds Ery tighter, that hum of a laugh in her chest. "It's Ery's time to be up now." The smile so few people see is aimed fully at her daughter in all its lambent potency. "That's what we have. Now."