Fairspell Meadow until you lose it all

ingram does not mind the multitude of breaks they take. it gives his jaw time to rest from the collection of threadbones. they do not weigh terribly much, sun dried and hollowed of marrow but it is additional weight all the same and the soft ache is only made worse by the chill that chases them.

they are having one such rest now.

while ash paw lays down, ingram stands guard; trying not to pace.

the patronsaint does not like being idle but he understands the need for it.

i thought i told you to send a messenger, ingram partially teases. you should be home. nesting. a grumpy rumble; as useless as his words. she had come and if she hadn't ... would he be with her now? would things have turned out different?

as much as he wished she hadn't made the journey herself, he was glad for it all the same.