A bad day

Branson chuckled as Rosalie nearly toppled in her eagerness to reach him, catching her in a firm, familiar embrace. Seven years. Far too long. For just a moment, the years of grief and hardship seemed to slip away, replaced by the warmth of family.

Maker’s breath, Rosalie, he murmured, amusement softening his voice. You haven’t changed a bit. He held her at arm’s length, taking in the ink-stained fingers, the stray strands of hair slipping from her hasty braid. Her face, though touched by fatigue, was lit with joy.

Branson's gaze drifted around the room, taking in the stacks of scrolls and books, the faint scents of herbs and parchment. I see you’ve been keeping busy, he said with a gentle smile. I’d almost forgotten how intense you can get when you’re onto something.

He shifted to reveal Kael, now awake and blinking sleepily at his new surroundings. The boy sat up a little straighter in the crook of Branson’s arm, his gaze fixed on the unfamiliar face before him. Branson squeezed his shoulder encouragingly.

Kael, this is your Aunt Rosalie, he said gently. Can you say hello?

Kael looked at her shyly, but with the kind of quiet curiosity that always seemed to burn behind his young eyes. He held tightly to his father’s tunic, but managed a soft, Hello, Aunt Rosalie.

@Rosalie Rutherford