Pen in hand

There's a wriggling unease that taunts at the edge of consciousness, where dream and reality overlap, and it warns Azama that he should wake, should stir before it is too late. But you should know:

He is Really comfortable right now. Like. Divine levels of comfy. The world could be ending, and he isn't sure he'd care to wake to see it. He compromises and stretches, and in doing so,

Leaves himself wide open to attack!!

"BWUGH--?!"

Azama jolts, but does not reflexively punt daughter dearest to the heavens by accident, blessed be! Chest rises, falls, rises a little quicker as he breathes a little faster, situating himself in the midst of the shock from his rude (but cute!!) awakening.

"Oh dear," he mumbles, cracking an eye open to better discern Mitama's efforts. "Has it been forever already?" He could have sworn it hadn't, but he is not raising a liar, you know. Aw, she's so cute. Cute as a button.

"Five more minutes," he whines, and then dramatically flops over to bury his face in his pillow, rustling blankets into half a cocoon - a bit easier said than done when there is a child prone to being swept up in the process. "Just five more minutes...!" And he laughs, unable to keep serious about it - though he is at least half serious about it.

Probably he shouldn't be teaching her this but... oh well! Future Azama problem.

...but...

Hm.

The blanket catches behind her when she tries to move at first, but a good tug and its free again to follow her as she does her best to clamber on top of the great cocoon that is Mount Papa. Once she's secure in her place on top, the attack resumes. The cushioning of the blanket gives way to slightly more firmer hits as she does her best.

"No more sleeping!" Maybe if she showed off all her practice, he would wake up again to praise her? A little pout lays claim to her expression as she thinks.

"It is morning time…" Mitama lifts up her hands in front of her and slowly folds each finger as she counts. All of one hand first, like he taught her, then all and two from the other hand. "sleeping is not welcome…now. / Father and daughter time."

Carmine eyes flicker back towards Mitama before Tsubaki breaks away from his task. They find a nearby crate and, ensuring its contents aren't fragile, drag it towards the student before its corners gently hit her shin.

"Stand on this," Tsubaki interrupts briefly, lest they cultivate the prime environment for an accident. He uses the edge of foot to nudge the crate closer to the counter, then deviates from his previous task for a split moment to wash his hands.

"You know your father's preferences; he does not enjoy sweets." The sky knight offers as the sound of chopping fills the kitchen. He's dicing up a small portion of the strawberries brought earlier. "Even I hadn't known that myself. Anyhow, it does pair well with tea."

Diced strawberries find their place inside a magical kitchen contraption, where tablespoons of sugar and lemon juice join it in a blend that soon becomes puree.

"Azama is considered the most unconventional among the royal retainers. Many consider his particular brand of humor quite— impalpable— but his philosophy has found its place among us. Silver-tongued as your father is, incongruous he can be, many turn to him as a beacon of wisdom. Without him and his penchant to challenge beliefs, Castle Shirasagi can become quite monotonous."

Tsubaki lowers the flames of the agar base, then prepares the tray. He hides the blush nipping at his ears.

"That's what I recall others saying, anyhow." The sky knight disclaims, "I only know your father through the lens of a comrade and retainer, I'm afraid. I cannot tell you what Azama is like as an individual— Such as, his favorite foods, his disliked ones, what he does to relax, his habits. I am not close enough to him to be a part of his personal life."

He admires the simple as though it is something special. As though knowing the smallest bit of her father is something worth commending, when Mitama can only see the tragedy in the fact she does not know more. She frowns to herself as she watches him go about the task. And do you know these sorts of things about Caeldori? It would be som simple to ask in turn.

That question is swallowed as she shrugs instead, allowing her gaze to drift away. A yawn overtakes her, which she is quick to hide in the crook of her elbow. "Often enough, not that circumstances permit it." And yet it still does not feel like enough either when she is eventually forced on by her schedule. "…but it is a nice change of pace, after the war."

Silence falls over the kitchen. She is amazed no one has noticed them at work and come to investigate yet. The guards who patrol at this hour must not be particularly good at their jobs. Another yawn escapes her, and this time she is unable to capture it before it flies free.

Not that he finds her imposing! She looks kind of cute when she’s mad, especially since he doesn’t know her very well. Some people (his friends, mostly) find this kind of posture and clipped tone and Sylvain’s immediate instinct is fondness…coupled with the voice that asks to push them further. 

Just to see what they do! It’s a hard-earned routine in some sense. 

“Oh!” An avalanche begins at the twitch of his fingers. One stack falls into another and then another…he steps back to avoid any of the heavier tomes landing on his feet. Papers fly, softly swishing through the air before finding a place to settle. 

When they open once more, the stars are settled back on their trajectory, as cold as ever. She does not move from her spot in the doorway. In fact, she plants her feet more firmly, tilting her head back to stare up at him as though offering a silent challenge. She has played these games before. She has stood where he stands now, facing down her own caretakers in quite a similar manner.

She is not cleaning that entire room by herself, if at all.

"Like I give a crap about that. Do you think me on the job right now? Sorry to say, but I would not dream of dedicating my services to you." Well. Even if not polite, the foul-mouthed butler was most certainly talented. The help of a pre-heated pan expedites his work; the occasional stirring of his ladle ensures that each square of the cacao butter is warmed evenly; his haste and professionalism puts him on the highway to results. A dash of sugar enters the boiling concoction and once more he is right where he started.

The tap of his ladle against the rim of the pan seems as much satisfied as emphatic, a strike of a teacher's dowel against the blackboard with a lesson to follow: "While we're at it, allow me to put it another way. Even if I were inclined to show courtesy, I would only do so while it is reciprocated. Do you think yourself such a shining example, Mitama? I think not. In fact, I am led to wonder what it is that Azama has been teaching you—what in the world are you doing?"

Jakob's speech is cut short by a force he cannot resist. Fueled by irritation and compulsion, he frowns at the sight of Mitama's haphazard pouring - offended by her dreadfully slow place, soulfully insulted by the surrounding area spattered with droplets of a precious mixture. More a crime scene than a counter! Though, no doubt this was Jakob's wild exaggeration as a perfectionist.

He tromps over to take it from her hands with a huff, "—give that here," only to pour the chocolate expertly and neatly and spotlessly into the molds himself.

Pour, pour, pour, down to the very last drop.

Whatever lessons are being imparted, the student is only oh too happy to demonstrate. What a shame, then, that the professor chooses to rudely interrupt with a sharp tone that, so unexpected in its transition, makes Mitama flinch and nearly let the pot slip from her fingers. How fortunate that the infirmary did not allow clumsiness to take root and grow.

The pot is snatched from her hands left outstretched. Rather than argue, she can only watch in silence as he sets about finishing the task for her, chocolate settling nicely into the molds, much better than she would have done, admittedly. All that protesting and bluster about how his assistance was not to be given out freely, and yet he has done just exactly that. Even as he continues to spit and insult as he moves back to his own work, Mitama just watches silently.

…hm.

"Thank you." Mitama pinches the edges of the molds between her fingers and drags it closer. She lifts it and taps it against the edge of the pot so that the extra goes back in before the shells can begin to harden. As she places it down and reaches for her jam, she keeps her eyes lowered when she speaks.

"You would not be the first to resent me. That is fine. I am already used to it." She takes a spoon and begins to carefully scoop out jam into each of the divots. "As for your earlier question, not particularly. I am aware that I am selfish. Such is the case when war leaves you very little to your name in the first place."

Her horse's hooves churned against the soil and stone, shuttling them forward out from the main road surrounding the Alliance's capitol and into the more rugged terrain that connected Leicester with the mountains where Garreg Mach lay. A less skilled rider, or even a less confident one, might have balked at the transition, and slowed to a fairer pace, but Lachesis felt not the need for caution.

The lumenthus, nestled safely in her pack, would wilt with every second that passed. This had been promised.

So, too, had there been indications that others along the way would make themselves available for relay, pegasus and wyvern and horse alike to manage each line of terrain, to ensure the bud survived in proper condition.

A woman on horseback calls out to them. That must be the person they have come to meet. Which means, more importantly that this nightmarish flight can end. Mitama sags with relief, only to feel her stomach lurch as the pegasus dives down.

They settle far enough that by the time the woman on horseback reaches them, Mitama has had time to dismount and recover herself. She lifts a hand to block the sunlight as she looks up at the woman.

…huh. There is something familiar about her.

mitama, please help / they got my oats on whatsapp / my future is dark

At least make it a rumor worth spreading.

His gaze flickers low as he clears his throat, the most he can manage to keep from embarrassing himself.

"Regardless, I anticipate they'll demand a ransom of some sort in exchange for the evidence, but I don't intend on paying a single coin. My conduct was not the best, I admit... but I refuse to let it be used against either that lady or you."

It's just the how that's stumping him. He can't claim to be well practiced in handling scandals; every waking second spent in the Nohrian courts had been carefully managed so as to live up to his station as his father's son. That he would make such a big blunder here, not too long after his arrival...

(...he has so very much to learn.)

Well…she still has some food remaining on her plate, but she could hardly eat at a time like this, with fury clawing its way into her belly. Mitama sighs as she pushes herself up from the table. "We will meet with that person, you mean. You have not done a thing worthy of damanation, and whoever thinks themselves mighty enough to pursue a false retribution is due a terrible surprise."

Of all the people to go for…Siegbert has never proven himself anything but sweet and kind and thoughtful of others. To pursue him in such a manner was reprehensible, even if the perpetrator attempted to claim some sort of innocence, and she would not stand by for it. What has she been studying for, if not to protect those she cares about?

“I don't know what to tell you, Mitama...” he starts out after a breath, trying in his own way to be honest yet considerate of her. Consideration, however, is not a point that can be fully determined by him alone. It is with her that lies the right of judgment— the power to make the verdict where Leif can only be the one put on trial.

“But does it make more sense to you if it's not my getting hurt that's fine but instead my surviving it?”

It's a genuine question, one he doesn't wish to run from, so he stares at her straight on regardless of if she will meet his gaze in return.

“There's a lot of people who leave others behind. But I came back to you, didn't I?” he continues on. “I came back because I'm strong enough and because I had people with me. I'm not happy to be hurt at all—”

It's a sign of weakness. It's a sign that he isn't strong enough in some way, whether that be martial prowess or in the power to sway people's minds and hearts with just words. He hasn't hit his hopes quite yet.

“—but I'm happy this time didn't have to end in anyone dying... Before, that kind of thing wouldn't have been possible for me. Or if it was, it wasn't because I was choosing it to be for an unselfish reason...”

Mercy dealt out not because it is the right thing to do, but because it is the cost-efficient thing to do. Because killing someone might damn him in the future, where one's tools are weighed more than their lives.

But Leif does not know of that, not fully, so he holds her gaze like a challenge instead and presses on, because he is one of the ones who charges forward so others need not. And though she is struck by a sudden but familiar sense of tiredness, she still holds his gaze as he speaks. Because she had not been there, and this is the least of what she owes him.

"...I don't know." Because it's unrealistic. All things will die eventually, no matter how much they may wish it otherwise. Mitama can wish with all her heart and all the magic in the world, but she is only a lonely girl with a lonely heart. She cannot stop fate, and she cannot save everyone.

...how foolish it is then, to believe even a little in the world he dreams of where she could.

"...what I want..." the hand that once worried at the charm he gave her moves to close around his wrist instead, bold and brazen and tired and desperate and this time it is her who meets his gaze with a stubbornness that does not burn quite as brightly, but will not be extinguished either. "...is that the next time you agree to be sent out on one of these ridiculous missions, you make certain that I am there as well. Understood?"

Another might say that it's a trivial thing to focus on; anyone can use any terms they want, and there's nothing to necessarily state their view and interpretation on events is objectively correct. However, if it is what Mitama sees, then Leif wants to know why she sees it that way. There indeed must be something different about him, compared to normal, that warrants that new descriptor, regardless of if it's accurate or not.

No matter the term used, it lets Leif know indeed he is changed in some way. So Leif reflects on what about this Battle of the Eagle and Lion has felt different compared to those in the past, and eventually falls upon...

“If you think so, maybe it's because of Caeldori??” he offers up his best wager, still in deep thought. “She was one of my opponents in my final skirmish. Did you know she laughs like that, Mitama?”

Mitama falls into a fit of laughter before she can stop herself. Of course it would be Caeldori, whose heart beats as quickly as she turns the pages of her books, who would find a way to make such an impression. Likely without intended to either. "She has quite the lovely laugh, yes. I feel fortunate every time I get to hear it."

But no, despite the fondness that bleeds out at the mention of a friend, that is not entirely what she means. Once the laughter has tempered off to something calmer, she shakes her head. "I am not referring to the events of the battle specifically, though if that is indeed what has lifted your spirits I am glad for it. But it seems more of an overall thing this year."

Perhaps this entire conversation was too presumptuous of her. It is too late to turn back now, though. She pulls herself upright again while gesturing to all of him. "Last year, during the battle and the ball and perhaps even before that too, you carried a weight in your soul that seemed to haunt you every where you went, even when not at the forefront of your mind."

It had exploded at least once during the ball, but she does not catch any of that same desperation that bled into his tone then. "You sound…lighter in spirit now. As though you have not carried as many worries into the battlefield."

    “Love, huh.” The word rests on his tongue, lingering long after he's spoken the syllable. Mitama's most likely right. Nanna often thinks things over, careful and deft in such matters of thought far more than Leif himself. She's had a full adolescence to ponder this, and in the times where they could do nothing but remain still, remain in hiding, agonizingly so, Leif wonders if Nanna has considered what it means to stay with Leonster's prince. Had she ever cursed his name like Princess Miranda did? Had she ever mourned the shape of his back like Asbel had?

Nanna had told him she has loved him for so long. When she fell in love, did she make her decision all the way back then too?

(And if their positions were reversed, if it was he who was free to move and her rooted to her home, would he have done this thing Mitama called so 'incredible'?)

But to consider these things feels sillier than his heart feels it to be when Leif hears Mitama laugh like the birds in summer. The messy, unladylike way she wipes the juices off her fingers speaks to a lightness that pierces the heavy thoughts Leif himself feels.

When one sees another carry things like feathers, it makes it humiliating to carry those same things like chains.

“Something to say...” So he forces himself to move on, pushing those thoughts deeper as he remembers just what he has called her here for. The frown remains on his face though, deep in contemplation. “...No one's ever asked me to spare a word for the dead before.”

Ever constantly in movement, there was no time to pull back. He never spared a word for his father, his mother, his grandfather, nor his grandmother. When Dryas passed, he wept instead of forming the words.

But he supposes that's not to say he never had them. Now given the time to slow for Virato...

“...I don't know how to carry their future. But I was it to them,” he confesses, folding his arms across his chest. “I never carried them to what they wanted... but I don't think they were wrong to wish for it either...”

A silence falls upon him as he stares at the box. He knows not how many seconds pass before he breaks it at last.

Leif asked her to help him figure out how to express himself better and though he may not believe it, she still does when she says that she thinks he speaks well as is. It is not the flowery language of someone who has studied the art of crafting words all their life, but it is plain that he means his words and speaks them from the heart.

The same heart that carries the hopes of those who are no longer with them, that bleeds for them even now. He falls to silence and Mitama carries it for him until he speaks again.

"I believe so." She believes they may have already found it, but such passive answers never seem to suit him. "I believe that one day, when you find yourself satisfied body and soul, they will have been quite happy to have guided you there."

And perhaps now it is her words that fail. Perhaps it is her who sets what might be an impossible goal before him. Only time will tell, and she has never spent much time looking to the future in the same way he has.

She does have a task here to complete, however. With all said and done comes the most important part. Her hand slides slowly against the lid of the box before resting there. "Hold your breath, please." If only because she is somewhat nervous about never having done this before.

A brief pause passes, and then a burst of magic fills the room. A small, controlled flame consumes the box and in seconds, only an imprint of ash on the floor indicates that it was there.

Keeping their hands on the arm to hold it steady, they shifted their weight to use their knee to prop the man up against the chair back. Mitama's sigh clued the professor into the healer's disappointment. "Sorry" they muttered "I should have waited for your instruction"

In future they would have to remember that most mortals didn't possess their uncanny ability to block out pain.

What Mitama draws his attention to is far from threatening. He frees his lance, grateful to have brought it, and places himself in front of Mitama.

"Between your magic and my lance, we shall make quick work of these revenants." He can hear more shambling through the distant dark, can hear their moans and the earth shift beneath their uneven steps. There is more to their number than he can see, but their skill will be far lesser than their own if they are anything like the ones he's fought.

The first one shambles closer and finds itself swiftly impaled on his lance. For a brief second beneath the light, he can see a human's eyes looking back at him, hazel with a hint of honey yellow, but they are glossy and empty. He wrenches his lance free, pulling out guts and grime as he shoves its mangled body aside in a heap. Reignleif is used to their ilk.

"I have not." Her voice remains steady as she answers. The sound of groaning grows in number around them. Ephraim's gesture of protection is appreciated, but rather foolish. In a forest like this, with the disadvantage of night? Who is to say where the frontline may be? Mitama turns her back to face Ephraim's and braces a hand before her.

"But the concept is not unfamiliar." The Faceless of home had been…bigger. Bulkier. More obviously things twisted for killing and violence than these sad, shambling things, but a similar threat all the same. "I had hoped that I might avoid fighting things like this ever again, in truth."

Ah,but fate is never kind. Out of the darkness another groan warns of an approach, and so her spell is ready before the enemy enters their pathetic little circle of light. Ice strikes the corpse in the chest and it stumbles backwards before disappearing into the darkness once more.

Is her Shigure also so cruel? Perhaps not, or perhaps just not quite so openly. If Mitama had truly seen such selfishness in that boy, back during the war, then she merely noticed it far sooner than Shigure himself did.

It's still second nature to mask unease with fondness, as he shakes his head, brushing the hair away from his eyes. "The academy assigned this task to you, Mitama," he shoots back, raising an eyebrow, hoping he sounds less half-hearted than he feels. "Wouldn't it reflect badly on you if I were to take the lead instead? Not that it would be easy now. Calming a single horse is one thing, but diverting the entire field in the middle of the race might get us mobbed."

Mobbed by the furious audience and not necessarily the horses themselves, though the sensation of pegasi chewing on his hair is not one Shigure's likely to forget.

But even as he mulls it over, the riders reappear from around the bend, turning onto the main straight. As for what had transpired while the beasts were out of sight, it's impossible to tell now with the shouts of the crowd rising to a fever pitch. Too little, too late.

"I think you're right, anyway." At least the regret in his voice is honest. "Even if we were to rescue them, they'll eventually just end up back here." The leader approaches the starting line once more — back to the beginning, for one lap, then another.

"I could not care less what the monastery thinks of me." The faculty has yet to remove her, so she imagines it will take quite a bit more before their patience finally runs thin. When that day comes…well, there are other sights to see and memorialize, but she doubts any of them will have just as many friends as she has now.

"I have the opinions of those who matter. Our friends. The friends I have made here. You." With one leg crossed over the other, it is an easy thing to lightly bump her foot against Shigure at the mention of him. So long as there are those she loves and who care for her in return, little else matters.

Still…Mitama sighs. "But I suppose you are right. If I do not at least attempt something, they will be quite annoyingly cross with me. They tend to assign labour as detention, and that suits me very little."

What to do, what to do…about midway through the track, there is a little gate where the horses must be lead into the racing track through. Mitama smiles to herself as she sits up straight again. "Stay still with me, please."

Silence dominates the household this early on. The sun has risen, and yet life has yet to take control and bring the rooms to a buzz of activity. Or, that would be the case, if not for one little spark that had spluttered to life with the sun's early light.

Soft, sock covered feet pad against wooden floors, muffled by the sound of fabric dragging along behind it. When they reach their destination, there is a pause as tiny hands fumble about with their blanket-turned-cape to ensure they won't drop it. The door fights them a little, but eventually slides open enough for them to slip through.

(Their cape gets caught on the corner, but tugging eventually frees for their goal once more.)

Eventually, the long journey of tiny legs comes to a close as they find their still sleeping target. They stay quiet for a moment, watching, waiting, and then, as his chest rises once more, she strikes!

"Papa!" Mitama's little body jumps onto her sleeping father's form with a flurry of giggles and the drag of her blanket that she has brought along with her. "Papa wake up! You have been sleeping forever." Has he really? The little girl is quite convinced he was. Tiny hands settle on his chest and do their best to try and push him. "Up!"

Rather than answer, Mitama rises to her feet and stretches out her back as much as she can from being hunched over the pond. "I am sure the frogs have their own way of dealing with it." She does not see any now, but she is certain they are there, beneath the surface. Do frogs sleep, she wonders? Surely...but she has never seen one either. Mitama shrugs. "They return every year, after all."

Much like the seasons, much like the frogs, and much like child to parent.

“Ah, but are they the very same frogs? Or are they simply the progeny of those who perished before them…? Do frogs, or tadpoles, hibernate, I wonder…?”

A question for someone more interested in the science of it than Azama himself, for as much as he does appreciate and lean into nature’s wonders.

Although,

maybe it wouldn’t hurt him to read up on it in the case of an eventual next time. He’d been froggified once - who was to say it’d not happen again? Azama’s number of friends would, for better or worse, never outpace that of the folks he lived to pester on the daily.

(Often one could find overlap between the two but even still. The danger of the Froggening will ever lurk in the back of the monk's mind now.)

He steps into stride behind her, mindful not to be left behind in his curiosity-invited daze. The frogs could wait.

“My office it is, then. You are darn right in that it is loud - mealtimes especially, one must away with more care than the norm if you’re after a peaceful place to meditate…” He shakes his head. Not that wandering is bad for the soul, or that he’s against an extra little hike but… sometimes the convenience of a place nearby would be nice, no?

As he draws next to her in their walk back to civilization, Azama resists again the instinct to ruffle her hair. It’s so… there! Ripe for the ruffling!

… But he’s already had a few gifts granted him today, and surely stealing any more would be greedy of him.

(… Should he be greedy? Is that what Mitama needs of him, in the end, though she’d not found any more suitable an answer to his question than he? … … That’s something to ponder down the road, he supposes.)

“Actually, I have recently been testing a change in my blend… It leans just a touch sweeter, and I’m not convinced whether it’s for the better. Will you tell me your opinion of it, dear~?”

Yes. This, he hoped, would be a good place to start.

Through the powerful gales kicked up by its wings, Diamant can see the bird lift higher into the sky—clearly rearing up for a dive. The king had strengthened his core and dug his heels into the ground as best he could; it was all he could do to keep from being knocked over in all this wind. But because of it, he was unable to move in time, left a prone target for the bird's—

"...Gah!"

—before he knows it, Diamant feels a lurch in his stomach, his alarm reflected in a surprised breath as the space around him contorts and disappears, the windy clearing warping into the same cluster of trees he'd been hiding in earlier. And standing amongst them...

Mitama.

"W-What was that!?" He asks in a harsh whisper, hand gripped tightly to his bow. "What if I hadn't known what to do, or something with your magic went awry?"

Diamant turns over his shoulder. The monster, its beak lodged into the ground where he once stood, now struggled to free itself from its own imprisonment. The very earth around them shook as it thrashed about.

Seeing his chance, the Brodian nocks and aims an arrow. "That could have been me underneath all that, you know."

"Then you likely would have died." Mitama admits casually enough. Death will come for everyone someday, and it would have indeed been rather unfortunate for her if that had been the place where it found him. Thankfully, it had not.

"But I do not doubt my magic unless given reason to. To do otherwise is to set yourself in a self-fulfilling prophecy." It is not necessarily a religious devotion that gives life to faith magic. Were that the case, none who walked outside the light of the Goddess would be capable of using it in Fodlan. The more concrete evidence in her mind, however, is the fact that her father is capable of using it at all.

Faith magic simply demands a faith in something. So long as her faith in her abilities does not waver, she will not allow any lasting harm to befall him.

"You did fine and are safe now, so I do not see the point in worrying." Has he not learned that professors are not as important to the Academy as they hope to be? That is a shame.

The name she suggested was actually pretty cute for a pigeon and even the little guy seemed to enjoyed it, as it chirped soon after it heard the name pronounced by the young girl. “I think that it likes it!” Sakura replied in excitement, wondering what she actually hid behind the meaning of that choice. “Is that a particular reason why you chose that name?” she was curious, but of course she didn’t want to prick too much in what it might be private for the pink-haired girl.

“And since we’re practically done here, I think that we can… perhaps schedule a routine for taking care of the hatchery, if you’d like?” she was hesitant, knowing that it might be a coincidence for the two of them to be here together, but in her heart, Sakura believed that Mitama enjoyed her time together with her and even if it wasn’t exactly an incredible task, it was easy and cozy, especially if you liked taking care of animals.

Newly named and freshly tended to, Hasu lets out one last coo before flying off her shoulder and back up to the rafters. Mitama watches it silently for a moment before turning her attention back to the princess.

"A schedule?" Ugh. The last thing she wants is to repeatedly deprive herself of rest by giving herself more labour to suffer through. The birds are not that bad, but their appeal is nothing compared to the delight of staying in bed and letting the hours roll by while doing nothing.

But, unfortunately, greater than her desire to sleep is her aversion to the idea of disappointing. So, after a moment of silence, Mitama nods and does her best to smile. "I imagine I would like that quite a bit. Thank you for making time for me."

Who knows, if she persists long enough, perhaps she might even learn how to find that bird again. Only time will tell but, for now, she is happy at least for a new memory worth revisiting. "I am grateful, Lady Sakura."