@sreing sent. ( happy holidays. )
↳ for sylvain : a small braided wreath ( somewhat clumsy ) , which she presents to him in person . "you may set it on fire ." a beat of silence . "it is what we do in sreng , during the solstice . for protection ."
─ sylvain thinks he ’ s heard of it . maybe in passing , in a book that never went too far into the heart of sreng ; its leaders , its people , its culture . it ’ s that thought that makes his hold gentle , just a little bit afraid the wreath will fall apart in his grasp . “ saoirse ─ ”
he doesn ’ t know what to say . words are a little bit hard , & he clears his throat . “ thank you , ” he says . softly , & his voice is still unsure & too heavy with apology . he tries again . “ thank you , saoirse . i will . ” protection . protection from ... anything , he ’ s sure , that he can face simply from being a monastery student that must go out on missions , but ... he wants to believe , desperately so . that he was seen . in the estate . that she had seen , as much of a child as she was . as they both were .
“ teach me how to make one , ” he says , & then he smiles . he tries to , he tries to give her a smile from the bottom of his heart , ( & it turns out hopeful , turns out kind , turns out warm ) , “ & i may just repay you one day . ”
