Amber gave a questioning look, not sure that she quite believed him, but did not ask anything further of it. With his usual good morning smile looking as genuine as ever, it was challenging to disbelieve for long. Soon, she too was smiling as he lifted her onto his lap, but she remained silent for a good few seconds before answering his question. She shifted her weight to a more comfortable position, keeping her eyes on her lap for her moments of silence. Small bits of her dream ran through her mind as though on replay: the joke that Peter always called cheesy, her mother’s laughing eyes and bright giggle in reaction, the warm decorations in her old living room… Ember liked the simplicity of her uncle’s home, but she did make note at one point how different her mother’s and his style of décor was.

No. She would not say anything again… Typically, Ambrosette only told her dear Uncle Emrys of her dreams when they were bad, which half the time she couldn’t help, but do. Fifty percent of the time she woke up in screams or tears. The other half, it just felt better for her fears to talk about it with him. He was certainly always willing to listen as much as he was willing to answer many questions—just a couple of the many reasons she loved her uncle so.

After glancing around the room, out of habit, for any other sign of a human being, she answered with a smile, turning her head to him, “Just a little hungry.” Amber, being as shy as she was, did not like to speak around people that she didn’t know very well (unless of course they spoke of something that peaked her interest and curiosity).

With her next short pause she found herself vaguely wondering if he too dreamt of their family. If they were good or bad. If he liked remembering or pushed it away. She, however, kept her mouth closed, or at least for now. In some ways the topic seemed like safely guarded territory.

“What about you, Uncle Emrys? Are you good?” She ended up questioning in return. “And do we have plans for today? It looks pretty out.” This is often how her questions came out: in a long stream of many. Though as she finished her last statement, one of the servants entered, causing her to blush. She did like having them around to help; they made very good breakfast, but she still didn’t like saying much to them. Perhaps someday that would change.

-------------------------------------------------------

Imogene was seated by the sunlight on the burgundy-upholstered bench that her father had built into the wall by the windowsill when he had built the Adhemar home. On days such as this—where the sun was bright and there was no work at the pub to be done, this is often where Imogene could be found. Though, did it ever last long? No.
In her hand she held a battered copy of The Voyage of Bran by Kuno Meyer. Her brother had sent it to her a few days ago with the small package of money he had made for them. Evidence of this was at the other end of the bench, by her feet, where torn brown packaging lay next to a small scribbled on note. The note read small chicken-scratch:

Immy,
I’ve moved on again, but of course will still not say where. Found this elderly man with a room full of old books. He was willing to trade one for my help in repairing his roof: The Voyage of Bran. I hope it to be a new and interesting read for you.
Stay safe. Love you all.

Reuben

Somewhere in his wandering he had learned to write and though it was not particularly pretty, Imogene found herself envious to the point of being bitter. Though, bitterness was not a hard trait to come by for her.

Downstairs, there had been screaming and yelling and even the quiet, distant sound of running, but that was bearable. At least for now… She had just gotten to the part of the woman bearing a son and read: “I go home, the pale pure morning dawns near: Mon—“

There was a high pitched scream at the very top of the staircase. Imogene looked up from her reading, annoyed and glaring at the only thing she could at the moment. The wall. Rolling her dark eyes, she turned them back to the page. “Moninn—“ she started to read again, but…

“EEEEEEKK! EEELLLRRRRIC! Eww ewww EWW!”

was again interrupted. As though the animal at her side was able to sense her irritation, the dog growled defensively. Closing her book, she pet the top of his head. The dog was a black mut with pointed ears, looking much like a large Doberman Pinscher more than anything else. Slowly getting to her feet, she let her lingering fingers drop from the top of his head then picked up the letter. Without giving it a second glance, she placed it on top of a tall stack of warn down and discoloured books that could be seen in the corner of her room. Even though she did not share it with any of her sibling, it was one of the larger rooms in the house. When she was very young she had shared it with Reuben and now that he was gone… It was hers. Though, soon Charlotte may be getting her way and moving in with Imogene.

As she stepped out of her bedroom with book in hand she was nearly trampled by the two that had been screaming earlier. Reminding herself to keep her cool for the two giggling children, she took a deep breath. “Merry, the house isn’t for screaming and Elric… Merlin’s beard, take that nasty amphibian outside.” She shook her head to herself, then headed downstairs where there, as always, were children spread out everywhere, playing and crying and even one sleeping (bless him). “I’ll be back soon mum,” she told her before stepping outside into the lovely scenery. She heard her mother’s request of her coming in soon to help out loud and clear as the woman practically shouted it over the ruckus after her. Without a reply she was headed deeper and deeper into the woods.