Neverwinter Forest hurting. longing. dancing to disco music.

Lótë waited, her breath bated as the shadow pressed in with his gift. She tried, and likely failed, to keep her spring gaze from roaming over him hungrily -- sweeping and concerned, looking for some sign of affliction or malice that had been done. It felt it had been years since she'd last seen Makan this close and she had worried, remembering how frail and skittish he'd been. 

Curled small, hoping she would not intimidate him in the vulnerable place they were in now, she kept waiting -- still as stone as he pressed his nose between her ears. The cloudberry couldn't repress the way her eyes fell shut as weight melted off her frame, fighting back tears with an internal thought of annoyance for her rampant hormones. 

"I missed you," was all the painter could rasp out, as lost for words as the corvid was. 

A tiny sound broke the tension. Mewling, from the son she kept safe against her. 

"His name is Fjall," Lótë murmured, still unable to meet his gaze of wild sky blue as she shifted the tail that covered the babe's lower half like a blanket. It was only then that spring tourmalines could lift to watch the blackbird's face -- uncertain of what he might think.