Swiftcurrent Creek Can't forget your style or your cynicism

Reverie spoke—words soft—but enough to halt him. He paused his back peddle from the entrance of the den, gaze lifting as a brow arched—but she spoke nothing more. “Is this okay? This is my old den… I haven’t been here since Eshe left—no idea what she left behind in there.” He hadn’t bothered to look—hadn’t been able to bring himself to.

From the corner of his eye, he could swear he caught the shadowed silhouette of a dried sprig of lavender.

Throat bobbing as he swallowed, Mae’s caustic words stirred a small smile to his lips and he sidestepped out of the way, allowing her the space to go in. “Cute,” he rumbled, eyes drifting over his ebony daughter. “Figured you’d want some time with Reverie.”

A brief pause, and if he had hands, he would have clapped his hands together once. “I’ll see you in the morning?”