fire crackles low now, dying orange ( color reminiscent of the sun which set several hours prior ) casts not quite light to be warm. lunafreya sits close as she can to it --- coals shine in bright blue eyes. she stares straight ahead. hesitant, as though words weigh too much in her mouth.

          " your father... clarus. he was a good man. " spoken from a place of distant memory. of her mother, as her home burns. she recalls, as well, keen eyes always at the king's side. a shield. like the son who sits beside her now. a shield, beside sword until the end --- lunafreya turns her gaze from the fire to him. unable to keep sympathy from their depth, to keep her heart from showing plain on her face.

          " do you miss him? "