Silverlight Terrace gobaith

Seren, he wheezes, completely at a loss for words. Tears so long unshed glimmer in his eyes and spill over, finally, when he blinks; he presses his face into her shoulder. O, Seren.

This must be a dream!

After they weep for a while, Llewellyn pulls back, finally composing himself enough to look at his sister with the first smile he has had in moons. Seasons perhaps. He bursts out in laughter, completely taken aback. Roeddwn i'n meddwl na fyddwn byth yn eich gweld chi eto, he says hoarsely, shaking his head. Rydych chi'n fyw. Canmoliaeth i Dduw. He embraces her again, briefly, before tearing himself away once more.

Has she turned spy? She could not have. . . No. Not after what Ioan had done to their family. She would never. Would she not? He has been away from home for a very long time—but then, so has she, he assumes; Padrig did not live within the confines of Mynydd, last he knew.

Pam wyt ti yma? Llewellyn asks baldly, his tone growing a bit harsher. Edged with worry, no doubt, but it might come off poorly to anyone besides Seren, who has known his sullen attitude for so long. . . Beth sy'n digwydd? Eich gŵr, eich plant? Ydyn nhw i gyd yn iawn?