HOME SWEET HOME | EVENING
The witch had a noticible bump now, easily distinguishable as pregnancy as it curved out before her. If she sat down, there was a great need to find the nearest place to relieve herself, or to lean back slightly to stop the pressure on her lungs. The aches of stretching ligaments had subsided however, and for the first time in what felt like the whole pregnancy, Sarinah was able to enjoy it. Not quite large enough to be always uncomfortable, it was almost pleasant knowing someone you loved that you hadn’t even met yet was with you at all times. Removing the long thick grey knitted wool cloak she wore to protect herself from the cold, she began to kick off the felt lined boots that had become a must-wear in the chilly Achtus weather. As though in sync with her thoughts, the little being inside rolled, a curiously stronger sensation than the little flutters a few weeks ago. She smiled, stopping in the living area and lifting her hands to rest on her belly through the soft black fabric of her long sleeved top. It flowed freely from under her bust, embroidered lightly with red and yellow roses along the sleeves and the hem and matched by a long flowing skirt.
“Ne little one, ye just calm down. Da’s here somewhere, we’ll find him.” The passive had taken a decent beating the night prior, enough that he’d needed more than a few houses to recover. That didn’t mean Sarinah stopped her work however, Boriand had made that very clear. Thankfully, even after all that had happened, Lil’ Mo and Kip had been ready to welcome him back into the fold, and the younger boy had eagerly accepted walking the pregnant witch home when she had to go alone. Finishing taking her boots off, Sarinah moved through the home, peering into the kitchen before making her way into the bedroom.
“Tristaan?” She said softly, pausing in the doorway to look over his form, huddled under the covers to keep warm in the cooler room of the house. He was bruised, always, and a barely healed gash graced his eyebrow. The dancer frowned. It was wrong, seeing him like this every clocking day. Her field hummed with her concerns, the mona in it almost more attentative as she came along in weeks. Given the man’s profession, and her magic, perhaps she should reconsider Az’s words so many seasons ago. If she could connect with the presence around her, perhaps she could help heal the passive. The idea clung for a moment, before shifting to thoughts for a later time. Moving forwards, she climbed awkwardly into the bed, scooting under the covers and snuggling into the warmth of the dark haired passives back. The sound of his gentle breathing was soothing, a sign that he still lived.
“Epaemo hama, I couldn’t resist.” The olive skinned woman sighed into his sleeping form, delighted to be off her feet finally. Everything ached, but she wouldn’t tell the man that. Not when it paled in comparison to his injuries. Her arm snaked around him, hugging closely so she was pressed tightly against the scarred plane of his back.
“Ye feeling any better?” She asked softly as she pressed her lips to his shoulder, wanting to wake the man up, wanting to be sure he was okay. Selfishly, wanting to just be with him.