the salt is on the briar rose,
the fog is in the fir trees.
the fog is in the fir trees.
He’s prepared to defend himself against that first dog-laugh, his mouth already opening for some clever retort, but the sound that follows catches him by surprise. Caspian snorts at her first hiccup, giggles at her second, and falls to full laughter along with her, though there was never any joke. He laughs until his sides heave and tears sting at his eyes and roll down his cheeks.
They catch themselves around the same time, and the paint rolls to a more upright position with a wheezing breath. He is very near to laughing again when she speaks at last, though later he’s very glad he managed not to. It’s just that her words catch him entirely by surprise; his blue eyes are round as stones when he looks at her. “You’ve been a whale??” His brow furrows, the soft skin of his nose wrinkling, though whether in doubt or because he’s fighting back a sneeze it’s hard to tell. “You’re pulling my leg.” If he could be a whale, he would never be anything else. Except maybe a shark, or a sea dragon, or, or, or.
Are you happy? There is no hesitation for him on this one. “Yes.” And he is - happy, though not satisfied. It’s never occurred to him to think he shouldn’t be, until now. For the first time, there is a little tremble of doubt. If she has been a whale and never happy, then what right does he have?
“I can get some,” he says, suddenly wanting something to do, though he doesn’t yet climb to his feet.
@Saphira
