Witch's Marsh kiss your eyelids in the morning as you start to raise your head

oh, olive. so kind—always had been, always would be. cortez could be a deadbeat all the rest of his life and his siblings would still adore him. he supposed that was what unconditional love was all about, but the world didn't love you unconditionally. you had to be something; you couldn't just be. a lot of life was floating on the breeze, but there was some steering involved. up to you whether that breeze took you into the mud or above the clouds.

his tail began to beat faster as she spoke, shaking his head in disbelief. olive, that's incredible, he burst in softly, but she continued on, sharing more and more and more. he had missed her voice, like the purest of melodies. if heaven had a spokeswoman, it was olive shakti. he'd known that from the beginning. and as god's designated press secretary, she could pretty much talk him into doing anything, thus— of course i'll come.

she still believed in the gods, then. cortez wouldn't lie to her, he'd long left them behind, but he'd not try and sway her mind on the matter. if they brought her comfort, he was glad of it. but he had lived a better life since shirking his obligation of duty and fear to invisible things in the air. the vagabond hoped she wouldn't press him on it. knock on wood.

calder's always gonna be fine, he assured her, in fact not truly knowing how his twin fared. he had been hale enough when he'd last seen him, but then, that was calder. best equipped to handle the rigors of this world. he could laugh it off; cortez tended to be beat down by its troubles, and that was where he was deficient, and probably always would be. he's safe. and i'm safe. we're safe, sis. and together. that's what matters.

his lips curve in a smile that could have been called devilish, were it not for the childlike light in his eyes. now, i wanna meet your wife, and these willows you keep raving about. not to mention, he really could use a nap, and probably a bath, too, after this muck.