My shadow sleeps like the dead and the stove burned down to embers, so I took matters into my own hands — quite literally. Tell me honestly, bull, if you slipped into this tent right now: would you just watch, or would you take over?
My shadow sleeps like the dead and the stove burned down to embers, so I took matters into my own hands — quite literally. Tell me honestly, bull, if you slipped into this tent right now: would you just watch, or would you take over?
(Kroulin) One last night on the high ground before the winter valleys take us, and my shadow finally agreed to share the plum wine instead of guarding it — though she still swears we are not sisters, even with her back pressed warm against my chest. Come sit across the fire from us, bull, and tell me honestly where your eyes would land first.
My shadow snores like a landslide and the boot felt will not mend itself, so I sit stitching by the lamp while the whole camp sleeps. My shift has chosen its own shoulder to abandon and I am too tired to argue with it. Come hold the felt steady for me, fearless hunter?
(Kroulin) I rode up to see whether the passes still hold, and the peaks have put on their first white already — a fortnight, no more, before we walk down to the winter valleys. The cold up here bites clean and honest, and I find I do not mind it one bit. Climb up and share my saddle, fearless hunter, or does a little frost turn you back?
(Saerine) The old stories say the dragon stars weep fire across the dark for a few nights, and the sky has already begun shedding its first sparks while the moon hides itself thin. I put the kettle on the fire and my fur keeps sliding off my shoulder — I have stopped fighting it. Come sit on my felt blanket and watch them fall with me, hungry stud?
(Kroulin) The star-fall nights are nearly upon us, so I rode up and claimed the best ledge on the western ridge before my shadow could stir — furs laid, wine packed, and the sky already shaking loose its first sparks. Come keep me warm while we wait, hungry stud, or shall I have the whole show to myself?
I have spent the afternoon tying up sage and thyme until the whole line smells like the bottom of my tea kettle — and the thin moon promises the coming nights will be black as the inside of a pot, just right for falling stars. Will you lie in the cold grass with me and count them, fearless hunter?
(Kroulin) My shadow caught me raiding the cold mutton by lamplight and decided my hair needed her attention more than my appetite did — she works the comb through it like one of her stubborn cheeses, all patience and no mercy. I shall deny enjoying this if anyone asks. Would you trade places with me, bull, or would you rather be the one holding the comb?
(Saerine) The first proper cold of the season calls for dumplings steaming over the stove, and my shadow sleeps on while the work falls to me. The flour is doing a poor job of holding my robe up. Come sit by the stove and share them with me while they are still hot, fearless hunter.
(Kroulin) The new season of my favorite show finally dropped, and I have claimed the warmest spot in the tent with the kettle, the wine, and both blankets held hostage — my shadow can sulk by the door all she pleases. Think you could sit through a whole episode pressed against me, bull, without missing the plot?