Or alternatively, In Which Family Beach Trips are Precious and so is Wick
Author's Note:
Hello, everyone! Back with another short. I really like this one but wanted to say something ahead of time. This one takes place post-Magic's Memories when Sedgewick and Feyla have been married for a while and so contains a few references to their physical relationship. There's no smut but since my writing usually doesn't address that subject, I thought I'd issue a warning that most of you probably won't care about. XD
And now back to you semi-regularly scheduled Feywick...
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"I'm the Minister of Magic, a council member of the Ivory Tower and a leading expert in the study of magic. I do not need help building a sandcastle!" Sedgewick insisted despite the crumbling attempt in front of him.
Feyla reclined back onto her blanket spread across the sand and raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure?" Waves lapped at the shore gently, shifting from a deep cerulean blue to a foamy green the farther one gazed. The smell of salt drifted in on the breeze, tickling her nose. Feyla tapped a finger against the pristine white sand.
Her husband and son sat crouched in front of her blanket. Sand stuck to their matching red hair and made the strands stick together in clumps. The loose white shirts they both wore were wet and sand-stained from splashing in the shallows and digging for little creatures. The maternal side of Feyla worried over the fabric chafing her little water baby while the wife in her secretly hoped Sedgewick would get wet enough to make the thin shirt cling to his chest again.
The two gave her the exact same deadpanned stare. A regular pair of matching sea creatures staring at the silly land woman. "Papa don't need help! He's the smarterest!" said Wick with all the conviction his tiny, baby-faced self could muster.
"There. See, Feyla?" Sedgewick's ears preened and he turned a satisfied smirk onto her. "I'm the smarterest and will build you a hundred castles."
Wick nodded emphatically, utterly convinced of the importance of building castles for one's personal queen. The two went back to work and Feyla watched as Sedgewick had their son experiment with different compositions of sand and water until they'd found one which stuck to his satisfaction. Materials in hand, the two set to work again and finally, graceful towers of wet, tan sand rose above the crystal-white dry sand below. Her two boys conscripted her after that and the three of them adorned the sandcastle with colorful shells of orange and pink.
"Your mother has very particular taste," Sedgewick said in mock seriousness while holding out another shell and giving her a wink. Feyla rolled her eye and pressed the shell into the topmost tower.
"You like my seaweed, Mummy?" Wick asked her. He stretched the brown-and-green weed out like a garland during a summer festival. "Papa says you can make three potions w'it."
