The lanterns in the bedchamber were dimmed to a low, amber hum, casting long shadows that flickered against the heavy tapestries.
Rael was tucked tightly against Eris's side, his small frame a furnace of youthful energy that seemed to defy the very concept of exhaustion.
Her hand moved through his hair in a slow, hypnotic rhythm, her fingers tracing the familiar silkiness of his curls. She felt the specific, hollow ache of loving something she knew she could not keep... a silent, heavy weight that sat behind her ribs like a stone in a stream.
Rael, however, was not sleepy. He was in the throes of a five-year-old's complete and utter refusal to acknowledge that the moon had risen.
He was rambling, his voice a bright, continuous stream of consciousness that filled the quiet room. He spoke of Bjorn, the great hound, and how he had witnessed the beast pilfering a link of sausages from the kitchens with the stealth of a master thief.
