Lost Creek Hollow permiso

silvertongue aquilanera. their tongues were similar enough for the sound of the names together to be pleasant; she nudged under wren's nose with a silly little smile that simply would not stop. it felt like wren needed this more than her, needed — needed something. silvertongue banked down the terror of motherhood once more and sighed. the acceptance, the agreeement; they were present. she simply could not make herself speak the words into existence. "i will be an aquilanera," she murmured. starting there. let's start there.