Whimsy and Memory

His voice had grown so much. Deeper, of course. Any childhood pitch she remembered had long been grown out of, as her own voice had done. Gone were the sweet, high tones of a young girl, replaced by a rich, lilting mesi-soprano, currently roughened by held-back tears of joy. Oh, and a large amount of speaking in front of a crowd.

Most of what had passed during his and their mother’s ordeal had been laid out for the whole of the pack, but there were more things – slightly more personal things – that she’d share with them both. Like how she’d met Amos, and the fun adventure down to the Bifrost.

Oh, there was so much she wanted to catch up on with her brother. She knew by the clearly skilled care given to all three of her family members’ wounds that they’d traveled with the Nomads. And, despite their ordeal, she was slightly envious of their extended company with the fabled healers.

On the night a pair of their messengers had arrived with news about Solveiga and Aramis’s rumored sightings, there hadn’t been much time to learn more than what she knew of the Nomads, and it had not been on her mind at the time. She had marveled at the amount of information they could lay their paws on, and at how much more complex they were than simply an elite force of dual skilled healers with just as strong skills in fighting.

She answered in a voice just as soft as her brother’s, letting herself open fully to him and showing the truth, “There were times where I was so afraid that we’d never see you or M’ma again… that a bear had killed you, or something had happened… But I knew if I let myself think you were dead, I wouldn’t have the strength to keep going on. So, I clung to hope. And I was right. I think I’d have known if you were gone...”