Perrine shook her head at the arches of the temple. She would not put it past her brother to manage such an impossible feat, even as he dreamed it up. ”Or the healers can simply go to the patient.” She suggested with a laugh, doubting he would be keen on any idea that let her out of her room, much less the temple. Harder to keep track of her that way.
”Is that what you call them?” Laughter bubbled upward as she snatched for his tongue. He was a menace, but she wouldn’t want to do without him. Sadly there was no conquering her overbearing streak. Glad to have him calmer and more forgiving, Perrine moved them out to a courtyard where they could sit together, half afraid for a moment that he meant to sit in her lap rather than next to her. He’d gotten too big to hold comfortably!
”You just accused me of having them.” She snorted, clever fingers working his shirt free when it snagged. She never could understand how he got it off that way at all, or how he hadn’t stretched the collar of every shirt he owned. Then again, maybe he had, but that was for Keavy to worry about, if the bitch even cared. ”Michael! You can’t just stick people in your yard like rose bushes.” The thought was both amusing and appalling.
”Would you really want to look at someone who got the best of your shields every day?” She goaded, craft licking up his skin and she sussed out each wound, half of which she could see now that he’d stripped his shirt off. ”Mother Night, have you been running through the rose bushes, brother?” Perrine sent a wave of healing craft to sort out all the minor cuts and abrasions, distracted by his thumb at her cheek. Perrine blinked, looking up at him.
”Oh hush.” Smiling, she patted his knee and gave his cheek a quick kiss. ”You’re going to run out room in your yard at this rate.” Huffing she went back to her craft, making quick work if his half pound of flesh. She was still certain he’d been rolling around in a bed or brambles. Or running wild through the islands, her crazy brother. She could live another twenty years around him and still not understand warlord princes and their very special brand of lunacy.
”If you’re home for a while, maybe we can have dinner together sometime, just the two of us.” No snarly wives to make the tight with tension.