Snippet #2174158

Gwyn stilled, leaning against the post that separated Tova's lovingly tended garden from the wild woods so nearby. She tilted her head and squinted at Faulkner, though her vision had long since adjusted to the dark, and here, outside of the trees, the details of his face stood out perfectly under the sparse light of the moon. Again, she found herself trying to imagine him with the shorter hair Tova claimed he had worn. She decided she liked it better this way--long and knotted. It matched his temperament better than any neat trim would.

"And whenever did I say that Ranger hearts worked simply?" Gwyn asked, tilting her head the other way. "Ranger affairs are ended simply, that is true, but in my experience the only hearts that are simple are broken ones. And it takes a great deal to crack the ever eager beat in one of my kinsmen's chest. I only ever said that all of the silly little complications that the other Albions toss into marriage are non-issues among my people--or, they were, rather. Political gain, gold, land, none of it matters."

Gwyn touched her own chest, and with a grand gesture, waved her hand towards Faulkner's own, and repeated what little she could remember of the old vows. "'And I hereby offer this exchange: my beating heart for yours. Forever in both directions, in this life and any to come, and come all fair and all foul, let us two be knit.' That is a grave enough oath to take without letting the designs of others muck things up, don't you think?"

She straightened, then, tugging her cloak closer around her shoulders. "It is my opinion that the only way to tell is something is done properly is if those involved in it see it simply--no matter how turbulent the waters truly are. As such, I suppose--as I wasn't involved in your past, it is your business and not my own. I hope you will forgive me for prying."

Ducking down, she slipped between the opening in the fence and straightened back up on the other side. She paused before turning to go back to the cottage, leaning against the fence once more to prod Faulkner's chest with a single finger. "And you should be so lucky, that someone might wish to keep you. To be wanted is always a boon, there is no need to turn your nose at the idea."