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Laughing merrily, she held out her arms for the touch of the forest, welcoming her back into its folds. Two souls destined to meet.
Søren and Isobel
When solstice breaks in the gray shatters of the hall in clan Aerin’s keep, the tongues of sway-backed men begin to wag. Early, before the drunks rise from their positions draped from stool and bench, is when secrets can be spilled, and reality up-turned like the wine-pitchers of Rothgild’s sentries. Only then, in the new reaches of high summer does their tale moisten on the lips and stir the hearts of man and maid.
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