Noise. Heat. Chefs at their stations. Stews bubbling away. Foodstuffs for a small campaign. These, traditionally, belonged in a well-run kitchen. Soft, tasseled pillows? Not so much. Especially not soft, tasseled pillows, tucked into empty flour sacks, and secreted away in the back corners of the pantry for when they were needed. But no matter. Honorable souls belonged in Captain’s uniforms, and yet, here she was.

“The Starsong hoplites never sang songs like these.”

And here he was; perched on her lap, head resting against her chest. Didn’t he fit so well here? Wasn’t he just the right size, to wrap up in her arms and press him close? See his eyes grow heavy, half-lidded, as he drifts through warmth and memory. Here, dreamy little cloud. Precious, dear heart. Stay awhile. Be hers, for a while longer.

“Mmmm. They wouldn’t give you a moment’s peace either,” she breathed into his wool. Soft, impossibly soft curls, tickling her lips. “Never would you find a more unruly band of clowns and scoundrels. And may the gods help you if they set their collective heart on irritating you. Thick as thieves indeed…”

“I liked them too.”

Vasilia raised a questioning eyebrow. “I don’t recall asking for libel with my lunch. Insubordination is a serious charge, little chef.~”

She nipped at his ear, and thrilled to feel him jump. Thrilled that she could still catch him by surprise. It was rare; some days she could hardly hide a thing from him. A blessing, a miracle all to her own. His pulse rose beneath her claws, and she knew it was her handiwork. He tensed, so startled! So surprised! Now feel him melt anew in her arms as she traced a lingering line of kisses down his jaw. Soft nuzzles, worshipful pecks at her neck and chin, all he could reach, scattered raindrops of joy. Muted, happy bleats, so careful and quiet, all for her. For [i]her.[/i]

She committed all of him to memory, and no draught of this world or the next would ever steal this moment away from her.