Moonsong Glacier sif's hair

Sour exploded across her tongue, a bitter acid wash of resentment clouded by so much pain she had to swallow reflectively to ensure it wasn’t bile. It stayed on her tongue even as she smiled.

It is you. She said in soft confirmation.

Kingii. She felt saliva build beneath her tongue. He was young, and she had never seen him any younger. Vairë was no longer a child, now anaa herself, and again she wondered over Lótë’s motivations. When she left Lómion and herself to hunt down Wilwarin. Again and again, Vairë weaved herself a bedtime story of adventure, told in her own voice, where her mother brought her along. Where they travelled together.

She loved her anaa. She loved her mother. Sometimes, she questioned if that love for the woman who bore her was returned.

Fjall was innocent in all this, he did not need to know the dark miasma that clouded his sister’s thoughts.

I am glad to know your face. I would have liked to know it sooner.