Faolan starts to wrap his arm around Dima in turn, then realizes he needs that arm and the hand attached for the venison. He falters a moment, then wordlessly coaxes Dima to sit between his thighs so Faolan can be near, be a protective shield against the world without interrupting the necessities of food preparation.
When Dima's settled, Fae nudges temple to temple, smiling rather happily despite the sourness of the topic at hand.
"Daniil is...mm..." He had begun to explain the man in particularly ungenerous terms, but then thought maybe Dima might not care to hear him speaking so baldly about the Voronins.
And then changes his mind again, thinking Dima would probably enjoy it.
"Spoiled. And I don't mean in the sense of wealth and silver spoons; I mean he's a spoiled shit who thinks the world turns on his whims. And he doesn't care much for Dima or Derzhena, so it's no surprise he'd go around them if it might benefit him." Here, he muses silently for a moment before commenting, "Don't know what he'd do with a wife. Never seen him with a woman before. If that letter was for him, the 'offers' might be a little hollow."
Sen is staring at Faolan with a cocked head and an arched brow. The stick he's been using to shepherd crabs back to the 'board' is now pointed Fae's way as he directs his words to Rin. "Do you hear how he talks about his in-laws? Merciless, him."
"They aren't -" Faolan tries to argue hastily, but Sen interrupts - ignores - him with, "Torrio, wasn't it? Trunks and tiny portrait man?"
<.>
It takes very little coaxing; Fae affords a nudging indication, and Dmitri moves readily, as if toward - yes toward -relief. Toward an easing against a world that had begun to turn itself toward jagged edges, toward pitfalls seen and pitfalls only guessed at. (Toward existence as it had begun to shape itself in the months leading up to his— His travels. His exile.
If he thinks about it. When he thinks about it. Dmitri understands that his life in Morovsk had begun a kind of flaring hell. Understands that what he saw hadn't matched up with what was; that he'd taken shadows for fact, but then he'd had reason, there was always some manner of wretchedness afoot.)
How lucky he is now - how safe - to sit here with his Faolan, guarded, surrounded. How much more easily he exhales as Fae's temple nudges his own; as he nudges back, eyes slipped briefly shut. The better to feel his (love's) (mate's) Puppy's presence. The better to know that there's beauty in his existence, and that whatever is happening in Morovsk, whatever's happening across these chaos-stricken territories, there is infinite reason to continue seeking onward, and infinite cause to know that he is and will be well, with Faolan beside him.
It doesn't hurt that Fae speaks scathing and apt words regarding Dima's shit of a brother. Dima snort a laugh at the words and, yes, nods agreement regarding the 'offers'; he knows enough of Daniil's preferences to understand how hollow the words would be, though of course it'd matter little in making a marriage to attempt outflanking Dmitri and Derzhena.
The fucking piss-monger.
He's about to speak when Sen butts in, and Dima's thoughts turn soft-edged again, dizzied. He almost didn't notice the implication, it felt so godsdamned natural. (Of course Fae's in-laws; of course.) And though he hears Faolan's attempted response, there's no trouble in it; the words don't feel like an attempt to sever himself from Dima, or Dmitri can't at all believe it's so. The hand that brushes Fae's thigh presses, lingers; suggests that maybe, maybe, it could become the truth. Suggests that Dima just might like it.
It's while Dima's caught in brief dreaming that Rin nods enthusiastically to Sen. "That! That one. Torrio. The one who—" Shit. Right. Right, he was the one who did Payl in and sent him off to ghost-land. Rin frowns and shakes their head. "The guy who thinks he's top shit, yeah."
Rin tosses a berry to Sen, and, "Someone's going to end up pretty unhappy with Calabra.
"...I guess most people would be pretty unhappy with him. At his big table all along, hoarding the rolls."
Dima's going to ignore the remark about the rolls. "'Unhappy' is a word for it, and you're correct. Calabra has been offering his daughters liberally, as I understand. That these asinine 'hopefuls' should include my brother—" He shakes his head, draws an arm around Fae's leg and nudges up against him, "The little idiot's being played, if he's attempted any offer at all. Clever as he thinks he is - and clever as he most decidedly is not - there's little chance that he suspects it."
The little shit is going to make a fool of their family, and he thinks he's bound to profit. For fuck's sake. "He is spoiled, yes; you've said it perfectly, Fae. And if I could reach my sister, we'd do well to learn whether Daniil or Calabra reached out first."
A thought. A grimace, because it occurs to Dima that he. Could. Attempt to contact Daniil directly.
Ah, fuck.
<.>
Sen catches the berry with a swift movement, serpentine almost, so that it lands directly in his mouth. He straightens, looking particularly pleased with himself in spite of the current conversation.
"Why don't you do whatever it is you wealthy sort do with your problems? Lock him up somewhere or quietly send him with Payl?" Sen's only half-serious about that. But. But it's not not something he would do, in Dima's shoes, if his own brother was trying to get around him like so. (Then again, he doesn't have a brother, so really he has no idea what drives such decisions.)
Fae isn't keeping up with the conversation. He's focused on Dima's hand on his thigh and the meaning he could attribute to it. The way Dima touched just then hearkens back to their conversation about rings, giving him a melancholy little twist in his stomach. (Like a stone dropping, sinking him.) (He wishes -)
(He wishes Dima wouldn't try to lead him along like that. They both know it won't happen. It's a pretty thing to dream about, and he has been dreaming about it, but he knows reality will hit eventually. What they are is what they can be; it's better not to speak about it, or let the thieves think it, or -)
By the time the conversation winds around to contacting Derzhena, Faolan realizes he hasn't been paying attention enough to know what they're talking about. What he does know is he feels hollow inside, and Dima is holding on to his leg and nestling tight against him.
(...If Dima told him. If he asked, if he, maybe, commanded it. What then? Could he refuse? Would he?
If Daddy said it?)
He shivers faintly, what could be nothing at all, or could be telltale to Dima.
He needs to focus. He needs to stop thinking about the hand that graced his leg.
"She hasn't responded yet?" he managed, gathering the notion from pieces of scattered awareness. "How long would it usually take her to reply?"
<.>
[q: did dima receive a response from anecitus when he used Sending to let him know about boat attack? a: He did not.]
Sen's catch earns a cheer from Rin, and a round of applause— Then an attempt at making the crowned crabs clap its claws. (This crab, they have decided, is named Garvis and will not be eaten!)
In response to Sen's question, Dima shakes his head. "It isn't so simple as that."
It could be that simple. It isn't unheard of in Morovsk for a particularly troublesome member of a high-ranking family to disappear. It certainly isn't outside of Dmitri's capacity, or his sister's.
But there were promises made long ago, and for all of Daniil's shit-minded ploys, he is still one of the Voronins. There's something to be said (is there, really?) for maintaining, preserving their family (the family that remains; the family that didn't fuck off to nowhere or to a haven of high elves). There's a loyalty that Dima's can't quite break from.
His focus shifts to Faolan. More properly, his focus fixes on what feels like an absence; as if his Puppy's drifted from him somewhat. (As if something gone awry.) (As if Dmitri's turned something awry.) Though it takes a moment, a few pieces draw together: Sen's suggestion of in-laws; Faolan's truncated rejoinder; a conversation concerning rings, and futures that seem perhaps improbable, perhaps impossible to a man who has been so often shoved aside.
Dima knows a clenching in his heart. Is intending to caress his Fae when he feels—
Oh. That shiver.
Looking upward at Fae, he smiles, grin crooked, slightly sharp and rooted in admiration. And before he addresses Faolan's question, he speaks softly, reaching upward to cup Fae's cheek - briefly, briefly, so as not to keep him from his work for long - "It's all right, Puppy.
"My Fae; my adoration."
A flex of his fingers, a slight roll of his palm to better press Fae's cheek, and then Dima returns to speaking loud enough for the group to hear: "The response is met to be immediate. As far as I understand, the channel's window of receptivity is small.
"I may have simply contacted her at inopportune moments." A slight shrug of one shoulder, and, "She may have chosen not to speak with me.
"Or I may have—" Another irritated tick of his lip. "No; I've cast it correctly.
"But I've had no response to any message sent this way.
"And it strikes me as odd that Derzhena, at least, has not responded once."
<.>
Fae, caught by Dima's hand and held there, possessed, only watches his love with cautious eyes; he thinks Dima doesn't understand. He thinks Dima may believe his lack of faith is because he's been so often shoved aside, when the truth is, in the beginning he was only shoved aside because he's not nobility.
And now he is what he is. A whore, an outcast, a hermit. More wolf than man.
Certainly nothing a noble could ever think to bring home and call his equal. Especially if said noble is the head of the family.
These thoughts circle in his head and he does try to set them aside, but - but. It would be so much simpler if Dima would just accept what is, rather than the fantasy.
(It isn't all right at all.)
Sen is looking around at the mountains rising above the trees, and at the water, and wonders out loud, "What if there's - oh, some impediment? The mountains, or magical influence. Fuck do I know about magic, really, but maybe it's not you or her at all. Try reaching someone else."
By now, Faolan has set the knife down and opted to wind his arms around Dima's waist. He rests his cheek on the other man's shoulder, face turned away, eyes on the woods. (Where would they - will they - live? Can he take Dima away from comfort? Can he, himself, be content to live in Morovsk?) ((It's all doomed to end, isn't it?))
He holds tighter.
Having spoken his piece, Sen holds up a berry for Rin, giving them ample time to ready themself to catch it. He misses, however, and looks askance at the intertwined pair. "You're oozing that melancholy and throwing off my aim. Dima, fix your druid before he spoils supper."
Seeing that most of the venison has been sliced, though, Sen rises and dusts off, broaches the distance and takes over the task of drying the meat over the fire. When Faolan tries to protest, Sen starts to sing - loudly - an impromptu song about crabbit, tieflings, and berries.
<.>
He could point out that he has attempt reaching someone else, but then Anicetus scarcely counts - of course the fucker would've held his silence - and Kozak had been... Well. A perhaps over-hopeful shot in the dark.
He could also point out that the mountains have fuckall to do with anything— But then. It might be a question worth asking. And the matter of potential magical interference catches his mind. Because if Dima is the problem, it might not be a matter of his own casting. It's something to look into, and much as he doesn't precisely care for the thought, he may look into Sen's own capacities for magical detection, for discerning whether Dmitri has somehow been cursed, or otherwise impacted. He'll ask into Faolan's as well, of course.
Later.
Later, because beside him, against him, Faolan's distance seems only to increase. There's unease in his being, even as he curls around Dima; there was wariness - worrisome, but oh, doesn't Puppy always have long-learned causes for caution? - in his eyes. And he's looking off, holding almost too tight.
Something's wrong. Something terribly unsettled in Dima's Fae.
Dima can't bring himself to snipe at Sen as he grouses, approaches. What he offers instead - brief but genuine - is a look of appreciation. The shithead knows precisely what he's doing, and Dima takes the cue. Drifting a hand to card Fae's hair and speaking softly, "There's a mossy patch beneath a tree nearby. We're going to move there, sit there together, Puppy.
"Let's have a rest."
And with softness twining clear-lined command: "Up, Dearest."
That spoken, Dmitri twines his hand in Fae's and rises - slowly, carefully and yes, reluctantly drawing himself from Fae's embrace - then grasps Faolan's arm, guiding him toward a tree a brief distance from their camp.
When they draw to a halt, he winds one arm around Faolan's waist, drifts the other hand to trace his cheek, his hair. To fold his hand and brush the knuckles light against Fae's cheek, then settle lightly, lightly there.
And leaning upward, there's a kiss for his Faolan; brushed lips, then lingering, lingering. Between brushes, Dima's voice soft velvet, "My Fae. My dearest Fae."
When he draws apart - slightly, subtle - it's to give Fae's arm and waist a gentle, downward tug. "Sit with me, Puppy.
"I want your company without interruption. As I want you: Always. Oh, always."
Dima moves now to sit, and if Fae follows, he'll draw the man against him, draws his cheek to Dima's shoulder, know his breath near Dima's throat. "It was what Sen said, yes?" A moment, and his hand begins it brush through Fae's hair. "We needn't talk about it, Faolan. But his words sounded right to me. Ah, I regret to saddle you with any connection to my brother— But you need never speak with him, if you prefer.
"I want you in my family.
"You are my family, Fae. Just as you are in my heart, my bones.
"Do you know how vital you are to me? Your necessity, my Dearest, is as critical as breathing.
"What I've promised you— The ring. I understand belief is difficult. And it's all right to doubt. Someday, my Fae, you'll know. Until then, and with every breath beyond, I will be hear beside you. Your Dmitri, your Daddy, your Dima."
[an q: would dima have any reason to suspect the mountains/environment or something about the mountains/environment woulD be intervening with the Sending spell? ARC, d: 18
Dima really doesn't know the environment or surrounding societies well enough to say whether there might be some artificial impediment; however, he knows there's nothing natural that would prevent his messages from getting through via the Sending spell.]
Also please to note, while Sen works on the meat, Rin is going to go about shaking the claws of the tic-tac-crab stars and ushering them back toward the river.
[NAT, r: 17
The crabs seem pleased by the handshakes and, with their obliviousness to the deaths of their comrades, follow Rin to the river in a little herd.]
Rin tells Sen they'll be back very soon, but first they have a parade to lead!
They point to the crabs behind them, naming off each, before starting down to the river, picking up on the song Sen had begun and adding little twists and turns for everything crab, and of course for Sen, and for Mykola also.
no subject
When Dima's settled, Fae nudges temple to temple, smiling rather happily despite the sourness of the topic at hand.
"Daniil is...mm..." He had begun to explain the man in particularly ungenerous terms, but then thought maybe Dima might not care to hear him speaking so baldly about the Voronins.
And then changes his mind again, thinking Dima would probably enjoy it.
"Spoiled. And I don't mean in the sense of wealth and silver spoons; I mean he's a spoiled shit who thinks the world turns on his whims. And he doesn't care much for Dima or Derzhena, so it's no surprise he'd go around them if it might benefit him." Here, he muses silently for a moment before commenting, "Don't know what he'd do with a wife. Never seen him with a woman before. If that letter was for him, the 'offers' might be a little hollow."
Sen is staring at Faolan with a cocked head and an arched brow. The stick he's been using to shepherd crabs back to the 'board' is now pointed Fae's way as he directs his words to Rin. "Do you hear how he talks about his in-laws? Merciless, him."
"They aren't -" Faolan tries to argue hastily, but Sen interrupts - ignores - him with, "Torrio, wasn't it? Trunks and tiny portrait man?"
<.>
It takes very little coaxing; Fae affords a nudging indication, and Dmitri moves readily, as if toward - yes toward -relief. Toward an easing against a world that had begun to turn itself toward jagged edges, toward pitfalls seen and pitfalls only guessed at. (Toward existence as it had begun to shape itself in the months leading up to his— His travels. His exile.
If he thinks about it. When he thinks about it. Dmitri understands that his life in Morovsk had begun a kind of flaring hell. Understands that what he saw hadn't matched up with what was; that he'd taken shadows for fact, but then he'd had reason, there was always some manner of wretchedness afoot.)
How lucky he is now - how safe - to sit here with his Faolan, guarded, surrounded. How much more easily he exhales as Fae's temple nudges his own; as he nudges back, eyes slipped briefly shut. The better to feel his (love's) (mate's) Puppy's presence. The better to know that there's beauty in his existence, and that whatever is happening in Morovsk, whatever's happening across these chaos-stricken territories, there is infinite reason to continue seeking onward, and infinite cause to know that he is and will be well, with Faolan beside him.
It doesn't hurt that Fae speaks scathing and apt words regarding Dima's shit of a brother. Dima snort a laugh at the words and, yes, nods agreement regarding the 'offers'; he knows enough of Daniil's preferences to understand how hollow the words would be, though of course it'd matter little in making a marriage to attempt outflanking Dmitri and Derzhena.
The fucking piss-monger.
He's about to speak when Sen butts in, and Dima's thoughts turn soft-edged again, dizzied. He almost didn't notice the implication, it felt so godsdamned natural. (Of course Fae's in-laws; of course.) And though he hears Faolan's attempted response, there's no trouble in it; the words don't feel like an attempt to sever himself from Dima, or Dmitri can't at all believe it's so. The hand that brushes Fae's thigh presses, lingers; suggests that maybe, maybe, it could become the truth. Suggests that Dima just might like it.
It's while Dima's caught in brief dreaming that Rin nods enthusiastically to Sen. "That! That one. Torrio. The one who—" Shit. Right. Right, he was the one who did Payl in and sent him off to ghost-land. Rin frowns and shakes their head. "The guy who thinks he's top shit, yeah."
Rin tosses a berry to Sen, and, "Someone's going to end up pretty unhappy with Calabra.
"...I guess most people would be pretty unhappy with him. At his big table all along, hoarding the rolls."
Dima's going to ignore the remark about the rolls. "'Unhappy' is a word for it, and you're correct. Calabra has been offering his daughters liberally, as I understand. That these asinine 'hopefuls' should include my brother—" He shakes his head, draws an arm around Fae's leg and nudges up against him, "The little idiot's being played, if he's attempted any offer at all. Clever as he thinks he is - and clever as he most decidedly is not - there's little chance that he suspects it."
The little shit is going to make a fool of their family, and he thinks he's bound to profit. For fuck's sake. "He is spoiled, yes; you've said it perfectly, Fae. And if I could reach my sister, we'd do well to learn whether Daniil or Calabra reached out first."
A thought. A grimace, because it occurs to Dima that he. Could. Attempt to contact Daniil directly.
Ah, fuck.
<.>
Sen catches the berry with a swift movement, serpentine almost, so that it lands directly in his mouth. He straightens, looking particularly pleased with himself in spite of the current conversation.
"Why don't you do whatever it is you wealthy sort do with your problems? Lock him up somewhere or quietly send him with Payl?" Sen's only half-serious about that. But. But it's not not something he would do, in Dima's shoes, if his own brother was trying to get around him like so. (Then again, he doesn't have a brother, so really he has no idea what drives such decisions.)
Fae isn't keeping up with the conversation. He's focused on Dima's hand on his thigh and the meaning he could attribute to it. The way Dima touched just then hearkens back to their conversation about rings, giving him a melancholy little twist in his stomach. (Like a stone dropping, sinking him.) (He wishes -)
(He wishes Dima wouldn't try to lead him along like that. They both know it won't happen. It's a pretty thing to dream about, and he has been dreaming about it, but he knows reality will hit eventually. What they are is what they can be; it's better not to speak about it, or let the thieves think it, or -)
By the time the conversation winds around to contacting Derzhena, Faolan realizes he hasn't been paying attention enough to know what they're talking about. What he does know is he feels hollow inside, and Dima is holding on to his leg and nestling tight against him.
(...If Dima told him. If he asked, if he, maybe, commanded it. What then? Could he refuse? Would he?
If Daddy said it?)
He shivers faintly, what could be nothing at all, or could be telltale to Dima.
He needs to focus. He needs to stop thinking about the hand that graced his leg.
"She hasn't responded yet?" he managed, gathering the notion from pieces of scattered awareness. "How long would it usually take her to reply?"
<.>
[q: did dima receive a response from anecitus when he used Sending to let him know about boat attack?
a: He did not.]
Sen's catch earns a cheer from Rin, and a round of applause— Then an attempt at making the crowned crabs clap its claws. (This crab, they have decided, is named Garvis and will not be eaten!)
In response to Sen's question, Dima shakes his head. "It isn't so simple as that."
It could be that simple. It isn't unheard of in Morovsk for a particularly troublesome member of a high-ranking family to disappear. It certainly isn't outside of Dmitri's capacity, or his sister's.
But there were promises made long ago, and for all of Daniil's shit-minded ploys, he is still one of the Voronins. There's something to be said (is there, really?) for maintaining, preserving their family (the family that remains; the family that didn't fuck off to nowhere or to a haven of high elves). There's a loyalty that Dima's can't quite break from.
His focus shifts to Faolan. More properly, his focus fixes on what feels like an absence; as if his Puppy's drifted from him somewhat. (As if something gone awry.) (As if Dmitri's turned something awry.) Though it takes a moment, a few pieces draw together: Sen's suggestion of in-laws; Faolan's truncated rejoinder; a conversation concerning rings, and futures that seem perhaps improbable, perhaps impossible to a man who has been so often shoved aside.
Dima knows a clenching in his heart. Is intending to caress his Fae when he feels—
Oh. That shiver.
Looking upward at Fae, he smiles, grin crooked, slightly sharp and rooted in admiration. And before he addresses Faolan's question, he speaks softly, reaching upward to cup Fae's cheek - briefly, briefly, so as not to keep him from his work for long - "It's all right, Puppy.
"My Fae; my adoration."
A flex of his fingers, a slight roll of his palm to better press Fae's cheek, and then Dima returns to speaking loud enough for the group to hear: "The response is met to be immediate. As far as I understand, the channel's window of receptivity is small.
"I may have simply contacted her at inopportune moments." A slight shrug of one shoulder, and, "She may have chosen not to speak with me.
"Or I may have—" Another irritated tick of his lip. "No; I've cast it correctly.
"But I've had no response to any message sent this way.
"And it strikes me as odd that Derzhena, at least, has not responded once."
<.>
Fae, caught by Dima's hand and held there, possessed, only watches his love with cautious eyes; he thinks Dima doesn't understand. He thinks Dima may believe his lack of faith is because he's been so often shoved aside, when the truth is, in the beginning he was only shoved aside because he's not nobility.
And now he is what he is. A whore, an outcast, a hermit. More wolf than man.
Certainly nothing a noble could ever think to bring home and call his equal. Especially if said noble is the head of the family.
These thoughts circle in his head and he does try to set them aside, but - but. It would be so much simpler if Dima would just accept what is, rather than the fantasy.
(It isn't all right at all.)
Sen is looking around at the mountains rising above the trees, and at the water, and wonders out loud, "What if there's - oh, some impediment? The mountains, or magical influence. Fuck do I know about magic, really, but maybe it's not you or her at all. Try reaching someone else."
By now, Faolan has set the knife down and opted to wind his arms around Dima's waist. He rests his cheek on the other man's shoulder, face turned away, eyes on the woods. (Where would they - will they - live? Can he take Dima away from comfort? Can he, himself, be content to live in Morovsk?) ((It's all doomed to end, isn't it?))
He holds tighter.
Having spoken his piece, Sen holds up a berry for Rin, giving them ample time to ready themself to catch it. He misses, however, and looks askance at the intertwined pair. "You're oozing that melancholy and throwing off my aim. Dima, fix your druid before he spoils supper."
Seeing that most of the venison has been sliced, though, Sen rises and dusts off, broaches the distance and takes over the task of drying the meat over the fire. When Faolan tries to protest, Sen starts to sing - loudly - an impromptu song about crabbit, tieflings, and berries.
<.>
He could point out that he has attempt reaching someone else, but then Anicetus scarcely counts - of course the fucker would've held his silence - and Kozak had been... Well. A perhaps over-hopeful shot in the dark.
He could also point out that the mountains have fuckall to do with anything— But then. It might be a question worth asking. And the matter of potential magical interference catches his mind. Because if Dima is the problem, it might not be a matter of his own casting. It's something to look into, and much as he doesn't precisely care for the thought, he may look into Sen's own capacities for magical detection, for discerning whether Dmitri has somehow been cursed, or otherwise impacted. He'll ask into Faolan's as well, of course.
Later.
Later, because beside him, against him, Faolan's distance seems only to increase. There's unease in his being, even as he curls around Dima; there was wariness - worrisome, but oh, doesn't Puppy always have long-learned causes for caution? - in his eyes. And he's looking off, holding almost too tight.
Something's wrong. Something terribly unsettled in Dima's Fae.
Dima can't bring himself to snipe at Sen as he grouses, approaches. What he offers instead - brief but genuine - is a look of appreciation. The shithead knows precisely what he's doing, and Dima takes the cue. Drifting a hand to card Fae's hair and speaking softly, "There's a mossy patch beneath a tree nearby. We're going to move there, sit there together, Puppy.
"Let's have a rest."
And with softness twining clear-lined command: "Up, Dearest."
That spoken, Dmitri twines his hand in Fae's and rises - slowly, carefully and yes, reluctantly drawing himself from Fae's embrace - then grasps Faolan's arm, guiding him toward a tree a brief distance from their camp.
When they draw to a halt, he winds one arm around Faolan's waist, drifts the other hand to trace his cheek, his hair. To fold his hand and brush the knuckles light against Fae's cheek, then settle lightly, lightly there.
And leaning upward, there's a kiss for his Faolan; brushed lips, then lingering, lingering. Between brushes, Dima's voice soft velvet, "My Fae. My dearest Fae."
When he draws apart - slightly, subtle - it's to give Fae's arm and waist a gentle, downward tug. "Sit with me, Puppy.
"I want your company without interruption. As I want you: Always. Oh, always."
Dima moves now to sit, and if Fae follows, he'll draw the man against him, draws his cheek to Dima's shoulder, know his breath near Dima's throat. "It was what Sen said, yes?" A moment, and his hand begins it brush through Fae's hair. "We needn't talk about it, Faolan. But his words sounded right to me. Ah, I regret to saddle you with any connection to my brother— But you need never speak with him, if you prefer.
"I want you in my family.
"You are my family, Fae. Just as you are in my heart, my bones.
"Do you know how vital you are to me? Your necessity, my Dearest, is as critical as breathing.
"What I've promised you— The ring. I understand belief is difficult. And it's all right to doubt. Someday, my Fae, you'll know. Until then, and with every breath beyond, I will be hear beside you. Your Dmitri, your Daddy, your Dima."
[an q: would dima have any reason to suspect the mountains/environment or something about the mountains/environment woulD be intervening with the Sending spell?
ARC, d: 18
Dima really doesn't know the environment or surrounding societies well enough to say whether there might be some artificial impediment; however, he knows there's nothing natural that would prevent his messages from getting through via the Sending spell.]
Also please to note, while Sen works on the meat, Rin is going to go about shaking the claws of the tic-tac-crab stars and ushering them back toward the river.
[NAT, r: 17
The crabs seem pleased by the handshakes and, with their obliviousness to the deaths of their comrades, follow Rin to the river in a little herd.]
Rin tells Sen they'll be back very soon, but first they have a parade to lead!
They point to the crabs behind them, naming off each, before starting down to the river, picking up on the song Sen had begun and adding little twists and turns for everything crab, and of course for Sen, and for Mykola also.
<.>