[j] the nightingale’s her troubadour

Shiloh Dawnbringer · 09-02-2012, 11:00 AM

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Word Count → 335

No matter how far apart, Shiloh loved her family more than anything in the world. There was a touch of awkwardness in her affection for the pure-green-eyed brother, though, only because he was the one she had spent so much time apart from, the one she realized she didn’t know as well. She’d spent months and months with Ascher in the Solbjorg, listening to his stories and lending an ear when he had troubles, and she’d been close to Gideon while they were still in Nova Scotia, but he too had changed since the break with the woman he’d loved. Only by contrast, she didn’t know Saul that well at all—but that didn’t make her love him any less, or make her smile any smaller when he held her gently by the elbow. Only the touch of dignity she still permitted kept her from clinging to him again.

Saul chuckled at her question, and she smiled back at him as she realized just how much she’d asked in one sentence. She commended him for being able to answer at all, knowing how much had transpired on her end; she didn’t know where she would start, either. But he managed to tell her how well he was doing before drawing himself up proudly, stating that she stood on the borders of Vinátta.

The white-furred woman smirked faintly, and she didn’t miss the meaning of “mine.” She shook her head and grinned at him. “I always thought you were leader material,” she commented playfully, and then echoed in a soft voice, “Vinátta.” It sounded familiar, like home, like the Solbjorg, even if she did not quite know why. But she had been around the elder Stormbringers enough to get a taste of their mythology, to learn the names of their gods, and the familiar-but-unknown word only cemented her thought that this was a place for her and for her brothers, danger non-withstanding.

Then she smiled, waiting a moment before asking the obvious question: “Who is Lilin?”

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