Figlia d' 'a Tempesta
Mild winter meant earlier planting. Early planting meant higher yields, but an increase in pests. Their harvests were expanding both in number and type, with a projected abundance by the summer months. Success, unfortunately, doesn’t preclude from growing pains.
A mild winter also meant more temperate days.
The last time they had met beneath the oak tree overlooking their childhood home, Cora had been sitting. Wounded, she could only rest her back against its broad, gnarled trunk.
Now, she stood. Stood swaying on her feet, murmuring soft words to the well-wrapped bundle in her arms. Little coos and gurgles floated up from the blankets and bubbled around her heart.
Keeping in touch with Lysander was akin to holding a hot brand. It burned her, yet Cora could not find it in her to let go. It wasn't rational, but familial bonds never claimed to be anything but.
How could he have made the choice to embrace the very same power that had hurt her? That had hurt Ukatis?
Lucy babbled away in her arms, content with the world. Cora would shield her from it if she could, all of it - but she would know her Uncle.
How he wanted to be known by his niece was up to him.
Lysander von Ascania
