Ravensblood Forest convalescence

Lotte’s broad muzzle dipped in a solicitous nod at Olive’s softly spoken “thank you,” but she was largely quiet as she watched the play of emotions across the older female’s face. She wanted to see the Olive that Arturo had spoken so fondly of — the bright and laughing little sister with an occasional impetuous streak — but it was difficult. She didn’t particularly feel like reclining — the cramps were often better when she could stand and move at will — but at the inviting quirk of the sylph’s muzzle Lotte responded almost immediately. Carefully she mirrored the gravid female’s posture, though her reason for doing so was subconscious: she wanted to build a rapport with Olive and had the best intentions in mind.

For once, Lotte wasn’t acting on orders or donning the mask of another persona to get the information she craved — and unfortunately for the young mother-to-be, that meant that she was vastly uncomfortable. She knew what Kaniini, Kitku, or Solene would have done and how they would have gone about it, but in this moment she was only Lotte — and a very hormonal Lotte at that. Olive’s visage did not lighten, and Lotte’s quip fell rather flat; it was enough to make her wish she’d just dropped off the food and skedaddled.

Soot-stockinged limbs tensed to do just that — run from the situation — but Lotte was saved from a graceless, bumbling exit at the soft huff that plumed from Olive’s lips. In the end, the rogue was tired of talking the situation to death and decided to simply drop the subject in favor of lighter, brighter ones. They’d never achieve any sort of closeness if Lotte launched the harder questions straight out of the gate. She made no verbal transition, just asked, “How long until they arrive?” instead, gesturing toward the convex swell of the misted druid’s flank. “Are you excited to meet them at last?”