Honeyed Pasture calendula arvensis

bartholomew had, unceremoniously, come to the conclusion that his life was void of direction.

all of his attempts to cling to his religion mattered little when those he shared it with seemed to depart or leave shortly after anyway.

andrés was nowhere to be found.

rhaenyra had fled in a frenzy beyond him.

abraham, his own son, had vanished without a word.

now it felt like a slap in the face, to come here and see another familiar figure. although there were...new features about her that made him feel unwell. his face remained neutral. her scent that of babes and milk and —

he didn't even have a name for her.

you look well, he started with. slow and cautious. perhaps she might resent him the way he resented himself.