Swiftcurrent Creek compa

We will do it together. Okay, she whispers, I trust you.
And in that statement, Wren gathered, was a promise. Not one of some picturesque rose-tinted romance with undying devotion, one that moves all too quickly and yet works out just fine in the end. One where there is no fear, no need for compromise; never a seedling of doubt.
But what could be promised was effort. Effort, in the form of two young women who had begun to carve spaces for the other in their minds and bodies. Effort in the form of foreheads touched and fumbling silhouettes that reunite in the shade of midsummer; lives that come to a stop all for just a moment of respite. Two pairs of eyes that hold years worth of memories tucked away for the sake of something new, something unknown, something genuine.
There is no promise of future, but somehow, as creek converges with river and Wren's muzzle is lowered to press her chin to the crown of Silvertongue's head, she imagines that it is bright.
Okay.