Swiftcurrent Creek Rolling through the garden

A stormy look was cast his way and he quickly tried to swallow any further amusement—eyes cast down to the task—only an ear flicking to her own huff of a laugh before ruminating on having to check his eyesight. “I wish someone would,” he decided, turning a leaf over, trying to see if that was brown or brownish. “I’m not getting any younger.”

He continued to pull more of the brown leaves—refusing to think what life might have been if he had been here, assisting his own pregnant wife with this very garden—and tried to hide a smile once more. “In fairness, Arric worries about anything. Only makes sense he’d be consumed by this—your the most important part of his life.”