the arbor smells of sea salt and ripened fruit, sweet and tart in the late afternoon sun. the vineyards roll gold and green beneath the breeze, and aurora lingers at their edge, skirts gathered in one hand, the other steadying a letter she’s read so often she no longer sees ink - only alys’s voice. when the carriage finally crests the hill, she notices the small face peeking from the window before anything else. lia’s curls bounce with every jolt, her excitement impossible to miss even from a distance. aurora’s smile grows, one reserved for only two people in the world. she meets the carriage midway down the path, ignoring propriety with the ease of long-earned familiarity. “seven above, lys — look at you,” she calls, warmth unmistakable as alys steps down with lia’s hand in hers. “you’ve gone and turned the storm into silk.” her teasing softens when she crouches to greet the girl. “and you, little blossom. have you grown a full hand since i last saw you?” lia beams, and aurora’s heart pulls with it. she gestures toward the house, its windows open to sea breeze and the scent of fresh bread. “come in, both of you. the tea’s gone cold twice over waiting.” it isn’t a complaint. with them, it’s simply the truth of love returned home.
✵ where. the redwyne vineyards along the western arbor coast ✵ when. late summer, just before the harvest season ✵ with. alys redwyne | @ofsealedfates
