Lion Head Mesa Scraping for pearls on the roadside

margarida snorted before she could stop herself—short, surprised, entirely unladylike. her eyes widened at once.

perdão— excuse me, she said quickly, a hand lifting in apology. that was rude.

but the corners of her mouth were already softening into a smile, the tension broken cleanly.

you do not look fat, she added gently, then amended with care, you look… full of life. though i imagine it does not feel that way.

she eased down across from serein, close enough for warmth, far enough to be respectful. her gaze brightened a little at the mention of plants.

oh? what do you like about them? she asked, genuine interest threading her voice. working with them, i mean.

then she nudged the small bundle of herbs forward with her paw, unwrapping them just enough to show their shapes and scents.

these are simple, she admitted. nothing rare. chamomile, yarrow, mint. safe things. a small, careful smile. for calming the body… and the mind.

her eyes lifted back to serein, warm and open. despite her conversation with defne. 

maybe you can tell me what you would have chosen instead.