𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖 | 𝟏𝟖+

xlvii. candlelight.

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‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𝐀 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐋𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐎𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖'𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐘. He's in there alone, thankfully, without the prying ears of anyone else. He's consumed himself in his responsibilities as if they were a drug that could numb him of the past, and all she longs to be is his remedy, to take away the ache she knows he feels. She closes her eyes and reroutes her mind to the sounds of him. The rustling of papers. The scrape and tapping of nails against a wooden desk. The timbre of his voice cursing as he works. It comes to an end with a blood-warming growl, a summoning of her to him.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎I‎‎‏‏‎ know you're there, sparrow.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The door creaks as she cautiously opens it. Morrow sits with his black wings drooping heavily over the backrest of his davenport chair, hunched over a vast map of Aelethia that spills off the surface of his workspace. He dresses in loose dark garments, the collar of his shirt torn wide revealing a claw mark doused in salve, most likely an injury given from his training sessions with Ronyn. His dark hair remains clean, yet a windswept mess of cowlicks and waves. In his ring-clad hand, he holds a piece of charcoal, one used to smudge in regions of the kingdom. He doesn't lift those meadowed hues to her as the latch clicks shut.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen tiptoes towards his desk, curious to what's been occupying his attention at this hour of the night. Morrow continues to colour in the various regions until they're unrecognisable, but she immediately solves his pattern. The blight. First he coloured in majority of Yestrea, then most of the southern and eastern sectors of Tabrien that threaten the city. Next, the rumoured regions of Eshon and Brecia, of what he knows has been infected in Scaerus, his gaze never breaking from the rough sketch of his charcoal.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen sets her index finger upon his wrist to pause him. There, she feels the steady palpation of his heart.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"It's getting late," she whispers softly, using that songbird tune she knows will hold him captive.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He grunts in response, then continues to fill in the map. It's haunting how much of it has been doused in his charcoal, so much that the piece has grown significantly shorter from so much tense use.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen takes a hold of his wrist again, this time squeezing her grip so tight that his fingers flinch. "Hey," she taps the bottom of his chin with her other hand. Immediately, her world is swarmed in hues of green, a summertime meadow daze. Her bond tightens, her creature and his inner wolf caught in a tight embrace on another plane of existence that they both can feel. "It's probably not best for you to lock yourself in your study like this."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎To her surprise, he surrenders and releases the piece from his hands. He leans back in the davenport, his focus never wavering from hers. "It's probably not, but what else can I fucking do?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She sighs, slipping her hand from his chin to cup his jaw. He tilts his head against her welcoming touch. "You can't solve all of Aelethia's problems on your own."