Swiftcurrent Creek As my garden grows aches and the turf drinks old rain

Moss is out.

Reverie had made her choice- she’d clearly been wanting Lestan all along, as Arric had said. Strung along, Moss felt spite growing within her, and a murmur of self-loathing. Maybe if she’d been able to give Reverie the sort of love that was physical, she wouldn’t have longed for Lestan so much. 

But the feeble man was who she wanted, so much that she was willing to haul her vulnerable child to the borders to greet him. 

Akavir seemed to sense how Moss was feeling, and he gave his recommendations- leaving Moss with no task at hand. She drew away from Reverie’s side, tail curling indignantly. 

To Akavir in passing, she spoke briefly. ”Find me when you need me.” Toward him, her gaze was steady, even while it flicked over his wounds. The witch-woman was still out there, and she was still keen to put an end to the creep’s influence. 

She said nothing to Reverie, having been so easily discarded. She roved away, gritting her jaws together until her head ached.