#elowyn

You should do it he seems nice.

Elowyn and Caelia Greenbriar🌟

Elowyn, my lil weird sphinx thing

He’s berry curious!!

An Empty Palm

The bustling sound of the market never failed to make Ava uncomfortable. The noises were too shrill or too close, and the constant brush of people’s shoulders only justified her aversion. Just beside her, a small child grabbed the loose material of her pants. The child looked around warily, not bothering to glance at the person he was holding onto. Her mouth opened to throw a quick, venomous word at the child to make him let go—it was too close and hot to feel any affection for a spoiled knee-scratcher right now.

Just as the start of a word began to form in her throat, the child called for his father. Despite herself, her heart softened. This child knew he was holding onto a stranger. Out of everyone in the market, he had picked her. With a heavy sigh, she shrugged off the rucksack on her shoulder and let it fall to the filth-ridden ground of the square. The child’s gaze instantly flew up, tears in his eyes as he flinched away from her.

As soon as their eyes met, her aggravation dissipated. The world around her fell away. Her eyes scanned his features—his hair, his eyes, his cute nose. Without her permission, a flash of someone she once knew filled her mind. A similar face, eyes filled with tears, sitting in the mud before her.

“Get off your rear and help me with this carriage or we’ll never make it to Bothmir’s in time!” The voice echoed distantly in her memory.

“You’re the reason I’m in this mess in the first place…” the boy grumbled in return.

A new figure entered her thoughts: soft features, a graceful aura, and a genuine smile. “You really should be more careful, Elowyn. Dorian really does love those pants.”

Her mind cut off the memory, pain shooting sharply through her heart. She visibly flinched, her face taking on a stern look as she mentally built a wall around the soft memory. She extended her palm to the boy before her. The same chestnut eyes peered up at her warily.

“It’s alright. I won’t hurt you. Where did you last see your Papa?”

The boy sniffled once more, rubbing his arm across his nose. “Fish,” he mumbled shyly, pointing a shaky finger toward the dock.

Ava sighed heavily. She hated the smell of fish. With a restrained groan, she threw her rucksack back over her shoulder before extending her hand. She quickly opened and closed it, signaling for him to grab hold. The boy obliged, a shy smile forming as he took a few confident steps forward, leaning slightly into her as they walked.

They approached the dock slower than she would have liked, but she had forgotten how tedious it was to guide a toddler through a bustling market. Her mental mortar workers paused for a moment, letting a memory slip through the wall. She found her heart warming, faintly remembering the times she had hauled Dorian around the market when they were young.

She missed him dearly, but he had refused to speak with her after the attack. She didn’t blame him, but a part of her constantly grieved the memories they would never make.

“Papa!” the boy cried, instantly releasing her hand. The suddenness of it jarred her, ripping her from her train of thought as she stared down at her now-empty palm. Was that what it felt like? Once, she had his trust, his hand to guide, his happiness to protect. Now, she had an empty palm that would never again be filled with the warmth of those she loved.

The mental mortar workers resumed their task in her mind.

Ava looked up from her palm, now refocused on the boy and the man he had run to. She dearly hoped this was actually his father, as she couldn’t bear to hold the boy’s hand any longer. The man chuckled heartily, bending down to pick his son up.

“I see you didn’t find any balsam after all, Rhys.” He shook his head, with only a small amount of disappointment, as though his expectations had been low to begin with. “We’ll try again next week, alright?”

The boy buried his face in his father’s neck, clinging to him for dear life. They turned away from her, their line of sight obscured by the bustling dock workers. Ava took this as her chance to leave. Pivoting, she took a step—only to walk face-first into the stone wall lining the dock.

With a resounding “oomph,” she stepped back, rubbing the newly formed welt on her cheekbone. She heard the father approach, but kept her gaze averted, feigning ignorance.

“…Elara?” the man inquired, his voice gruff with emotion as he extended a hand toward her.

Her heart sank instantly, recognition hitting her like a painful wave. She fought hard not to look up, to keep walking. But the same force that halted her mental wall now prevented her from moving away. Their eyes met, and she saw the face of her little brother. His cheeks had the same roundness, though he was no longer pudgy. He was tall, built like an ox, with broad shoulders and a healthy belly. Probably from many trips to the local pub. Her eyes twinged with the pain of realizing she had missed so much—never there for a pint, never there for his binding ceremony, never there for the birth of his child.

“I…I’m…” The words left her lips in a hushed, broken whisper, trailing off as her lip trembled more than she wished. The tears broke through the walls she had built, rolling down her cheeks, leaving a scorching trail in their wake. Her eyes throbbed with the pain of emotions she could no longer contain.

Isom has been very touch-starved but his found family is more than happy to give him all the comfort he needs.