A little snippet since I can't write atm, from a one shot i'm writing for @missanniewhimsy ~
Cyrus was clumsy removing his dampened layers, fumbling with the knots in his bootlaces and tangling himself further in a scarf that was easily three times too long. “Here.” Owen took an end and helped him unwind it. “Thanks.” A grimace overtook his face. “My older brother made it. He’s still learning.” There was a familiar, exasperated affection in his voice, a tone reserved especially for siblings. He rolled the scarf into itself and placed it on one of the wall hooks to dry. “It’s a nice scarf.” He said, in the same tone some people used when bragging about prized possessions, “It’s terrible and it scratches me.” “You can leave your boots in the box.” Owen left his own to dry on the side and padded in woolen socks back to the kitchen. On the stovetop, a stew simmered, warming the air with fragrant herbs. Cyrus eyed the jars mounted on the wall as though they might contain human appendages. There was an electricity to his wariness, a tension that called to some long dormant instinct inside Owen. He’d never forgotten his purpose, of course; it was just that no one had sought it so directly as of late.
