Kayrin and Teigan and Tos, Grekorel, and Sray

[lantairvlea]

Kayrin was already in bed. He climbed into their shared bed and curled up back to back with her. She sighed and rolled over, putting her arm over his shoulder, fingers stroking the fur and she pressed her head against his.
“You took your time coming in,” she sighed by his ear.
Her breath tickled and his ear twitched. “Sorry, I was thinking.”
She buried her nose into the fur at his neck. “You’re doing that a lot.”
“There is a lot to think about. I don’t know about these Meim.”
“The boys in the barn or the Meim as a whole?”
“Any of them. Most have not been what I feared, but there were some that would put Sray at risk. Watching and listening to these two, I think they believe what they say. Maybe there is a chance of moving towards a more permanent peace as Sray said, but I think it will require the Meim admitting to what they did.” He sighed and reached a hand to touch Kayrin’s fingers. She laced hers between his and inched closer.
“My family could never admit they were in the wrong. I don’t know if that is a Meim trait or just a stubborn Hillenbohn thing.”

When Sray thought of it, she realized that Engama must have adjusted their school schedule around the trola’s migration. The school started after the trola migrated south and the break between the second and final term spanned the time in which the trola returned northward. Trying get carriages through the migrating trola would be a nightmare if you wanted to do it with any efficiency.

Tos watched the road for the Hillenbohn’s wagon. It wasn’t long before the dark sorrel pair came jogging down the road. He strained to see Sray and finally caught sight of her beside Kayrin. He knew she was fine. She had sent letters. Kallon had confirmed she made it home, but actually seeing her was an indescribable relief. It was a conscious effort to stay where he was and not run to meet the wagon.

There was a tug at his elbow. It became more insistent on his sleeve until Grekorel finally slapped Tos’ shoulder. “Are you with us, Tos?”

Tos turned sharply. “What is it, Grel?”

“Uncle Jon is trying to get everyone’s attention. Where’s your head at?” Grekorel asked. He looked where Tos had been focused and snorted. “Nevermind, I shouldn’t have asked.”

Jon Savin the second called the milling group to attention. “Looks like everyone’s here, let’s get the days’ assignments out.” He lifted a sheet of paper and started calling names and tasks. He dolled out the work to be done and by whom. It usually changed little year to year. Most of the work was already done, started weeks ago with few last-minute preparations that ensured the trola didn’t end up where they could damage anything important. They were fairly placid animals, but one ton of anything can break things.

Tos kept watching as the Hillenbohns took care of their horses and joined the growing crowd. He found himself bouncing on his toes, fidgeting with the effort to stay put instead of rushing over to meet Sray.

“Sray!”

She turned sharply at the sound of Tos’ voice. She didn’t like how her gut tightened and twisted at the sight of him.

His smile lit his whole face.

“Good morning, Tos.” She offered a polite smile.

“Good morning,” he said as if she were grossly wrong. “It is far from good, it is absolutely glorious. Your presence is a cool breeze on a hot day, the warm sun rising at the break of a winter’s dawn. You are back and look well, the day could not possibly get any better.”