Sunbeam Lair ❝elyë lantanë melmessë sonen,❞

Had the argent not eluded her finding forgiveness, Andraste, in the that laden-tongued insistence comes with wakefulness, would have surely pressed further how sorry she indeed was, how ridiculous she had been, aslumbering; that her littermate had no choice but to forgive her—!  "It is basil, mostly used in ze tendings of fevers,"  she wisps, and quiets at Agana's murmured intervals. In the meantime ... her ruff disheveles, rising with its own rousing before her soul and senses know he is there. Unawares— she turns—

The sight of him will always unsettle her; soothe her.

She remembers what he had whispered to her in the realm of the hydra  ( Ich werde zu dir zurückkehren )  but had not known its meaning, only the promise that might have been felt; knew it in the meeting of rumbled consonants and wistful vowels upon the tongue she had made mute—! He fashions her into something sidereal and soft and almost shy; shorn lips part to voice some manner of introduction, mouth only wishing to voice him nearer. Andraste knows that it is not only slumber that has strained her chords when she will speak.

She breathes and it is a devotional sough from airless lungs. And so—
hh!
—an inevitable a rouging as ivies in harvest does the stricken smolder beneath ruined cheeks. Rubied crown, fine and flustered, anchors o'ertop spire-shoulders; eyes gauzy with some sleep and yet she can look upon neither Agana nor musiker. Lashes listless as each bleat nestles beneath her breastbone:  "Oh-h— Th- hh!—this is— Mahh!— Mahler,"  lurching from the little leaps,  "Generhh!-General o-of Diaspor-hh!-a—"
The heavy hang of ashlar hide upon his diminished stature; the cloying pique of meager plague ... the faerie queene would come to notice in due time— nay, would have, had the sight of him not administered upon her an ailment of its own.

Any semblance of dignity was promptly shooed away as bleats turn to hushed hiccoughs that sprung so slyly through silence thereafter; bashful, unfortunate.