Silverlight Terrace viii. wash away the stained skin,

lótë grinned. "aya, she does." for a moment, something young glimmered in her face. the lost girl whom sialuk had found on the glacier. so impressionable and impressive were they both that lótë had called them family and hearth. 

"of course," the four-year breathed, the same easy smile greeting him when she stopped to face sandulf's umber countenance -- head tipping back so her gaze could find his own.

"i admit, it would be similarly refreshing for me as well," aiwë murmured sheepishly. empathy softened her face as he continued, explaining. 

she could see much of herself in him, which was perhaps why they seemed to mesh so well.

sandulf was almost stalwart, save for his warmth. soft spoken, reserved. and lótë knew what it was to hunger for the simple things in life -- something she suspected they might also have in common. 

"i do not find you to be dull or boring," the mother reassured, head tipping just so as if studying the whole of him. trying to see the scarred man as a stranger might. 

"it is not always easy to see yourself as you are. i am almost certain those in your village find your company as enjoyable as i do."