Our Place to Hide

“A likely story.” Leena elbowed her sister gently in the ribs, squirming for a better look at Siora’s injury. Sure, it’d be scabbed over by then, but healed? Not unless that pot of ointment was magic. Maybe it was, at that. Still.

Stack injuries on top of each other, you risked greater damage. Would Frost give a shit – or spout some nonsense about how no, really it was damage that made you stronger?

“He’ll need me back to help with the washing up. That should give us a little while, at least.” A proper feast was a terribly long affair, even here in the middle of nowhere. Leena used to find it charming, these bizarre habits of the rich. Perhaps she’d even taken pride in it – just in contributing her skill to all that pageantry.

Then, they’d lost their parents and what little protection a pair of middle aged elven servants could give to their daughters.

Leena laid her chin on Siora’s shoulder, venting a massive sigh into her sister’s dark hair.

“Oh, tell me this isn’t it forever, Sisi. I could cook for any great Lord’s kitchen – or draw portraits of his bride and brats.” What use were these skills taught by Frost if they could not be used to escape him, in the end? Siora had more than paid for them.

“And you could sing again.” If only they could get away.

@Siora Craynore