𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖 | 𝟏𝟖+

xxvi. tip the scales.

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‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐄𝐗𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓, 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐍.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Her trousers cling to her legs and her baggy shirt to her torso as she rounds the corner of the cobblestone road. It's hardly after sunrise, and yet its golden rays beat down upon her as the air turns humid. It's supposed to be autumn with cool breezes and refreshing low temperatures, but this dawn, she's melting.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Thorn leans against the iron rod fence outside of his home, strong arms slewn over his chest. "Ten more laps to go."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen groans, her pace slowing. "Running laps out here won't help me with my magic."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"What do you know? You currently don't have any." To this, he snaps his fingers and points down the road. "Don't make me increase it to eleven."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen bares her teeth as she continues her jog. "I hate you."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You hate me now, but you won't when you realise that I'm right."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen continues down the block. Thorn warned her and Morrow not to leave the house for fear they might get the blight, but Thorn insisted all would be safe if they followed his instructions. The roadways in Dreamweaver's Bluff are free of the ancient-born disease, but going anywhere with plants and garden life, and certainly the forests, will lead to their death. She tries not to think about the death part.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Earlier in the morning, Elowen had to whittle herself from Morrow's embrace. She's learned he can be a heavy sleeper when he's truly found his sense of zen. Just as the skies began to transform from that blue hour violet to soft tulip pink, she left him alone in the spare room. She hasn't seen him since.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Although, he takes note of her through their mind-link. With every lap, a pair of invisible claws rakes through her mind, followed by a possessive guttural growl from his wolf.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen rounds the corner once more to end another lap, only to find Thorn lounging back on the ground with his head back and eyes closed.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The fae is taking a midmorning nap.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen stops running, her hands resting on her hips as she struggles to catch her breath.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You're not even paying attention," she grits, lungs heaving inside her chest.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Nine more laps," he chimes.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"And what's after that? You want me to feed you grapes?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎One of Thorn's matured stormy eyes peek open. "Now there's an idea."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"No."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Finish the laps, and then we'll talk."