AESIOR OPHELES
✯ — got spirits in my head and they won't go
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Warm and content came the puff of breath from grim, his gaze taking in fraggle as he joined him at his forge. Looking around, his lips turned into a frown - he had a lack of paper, and so there was no easy way to communicate. Hesitating as he sat upon his haunches, gaze flitting to the sticks and uncooked dough. He gave a gentle smile, nodding to fraggle. He couldn't speak the word and the child didn't know the word, but he did have an understanding of the situation, or at least that he was attempting baking. Picking up a stick, he carried it back to the table where he rolled out the dough in a long strip before wrapping it about the stick and carrying it to the fire, to rest against the stone wall and hover above a coal. Making a motion to Fraggle, he would rotate his paw, indicating the stick would need to be turned. It wasn't much, but it included the child in the process of baking.
Head lifting as he heard Vincent's breathing, concern in the glance he showed the other, wondering if he had any honey. He'd keep an eye on Vincent's breathing - it was a small thing of concern and winter was well past but sickness could strike at any given point. Offering him a warm and friendly smile as he nodded his head to one of the other sticks, preparing one for Vincent before one for himself. He didn't mind the laughter at the shapes constructed upon the stone, he rather enjoyed the jovial sound. Pleasant his smile as he settled down with his own stick trapped under a paw, shaking his head with a wave of his paw to chase off notions of the laughter being rude.
He could admit the cookies were odd, but he hoped that they would taste as good as he remembered. He hadn't baked in a while, at least not over an open fire, or its coals. It had at one time been in an old wood burning stove, when his children had been young, before their abandonment. Eyes sliding to half closed as he rested, occasionally sniffing the air or moving to get up to check on the dough wrapped in leaves and within the bucket, his gaze excited. Nearly forgetting his stickbread, he would rotate it with an embarrassed tail curl. Easy was the companionship of the other two, comfortable to relax within, and a presence eagerly held in his mind. Faint now were the lingering tendrils of nightmares, chased off by friendly companionship and the light atmosphere.
Head lifting as he heard Vincent's breathing, concern in the glance he showed the other, wondering if he had any honey. He'd keep an eye on Vincent's breathing - it was a small thing of concern and winter was well past but sickness could strike at any given point. Offering him a warm and friendly smile as he nodded his head to one of the other sticks, preparing one for Vincent before one for himself. He didn't mind the laughter at the shapes constructed upon the stone, he rather enjoyed the jovial sound. Pleasant his smile as he settled down with his own stick trapped under a paw, shaking his head with a wave of his paw to chase off notions of the laughter being rude.
He could admit the cookies were odd, but he hoped that they would taste as good as he remembered. He hadn't baked in a while, at least not over an open fire, or its coals. It had at one time been in an old wood burning stove, when his children had been young, before their abandonment. Eyes sliding to half closed as he rested, occasionally sniffing the air or moving to get up to check on the dough wrapped in leaves and within the bucket, his gaze excited. Nearly forgetting his stickbread, he would rotate it with an embarrassed tail curl. Easy was the companionship of the other two, comfortable to relax within, and a presence eagerly held in his mind. Faint now were the lingering tendrils of nightmares, chased off by friendly companionship and the light atmosphere.
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THE FLOWER BURNS