Herbalists' Cache a mad thought

star eater watches him as he speaks, her golden eyes softened by the glow of new motherhood but still sharp, still searching. when you have recovered, i wish that you help me choose our next direction.
there it was. the illusion of choice.
her lips curl into a smile that does not quite reach her eyes. i would love to see the ocean, she muses, turning her gaze downward, toward the small, wriggling bodies nestled between them. their children, their legacy, tied to them both in ways that neither could yet understand. let them be this a while longer.
the ocean. something vast, unknowable. a place where even the strongest must surrender to the tide. she wonders, briefly, if he will ever let her be more than a mother, a wife, a sacred thing to be revered rather than a voice to be heard.
her head tilts, considering, grasping for something that is hers to claim. are there any songs in lanzadoii i may sing to them? her voice is lighter now, lifting with something genuine—curiosity, perhaps even hope. songs you were sung, when you were small?
if he cannot give her leadership, he can at least give her this: a part of himself, something she can weave into their children's nights, something that will carry beyond his wars, beyond his rage. something gentle. something lasting.