"She would entirely agree," Yseult shows the corner of her smile to at Darras before turning far enough to catch his eye, "But I was talking to you." She reaches up to rest knuckles against his chest.

"I might go back to bed for a little while, and then we could eat outside in the sun. Maybe do some reading." The lean of her shoulder indicates the shelves of books on the opposite wall, novels and chronicles and poetry and science, dozens of volumes she's read and dozens more she hasn't, rather than the reports quietly accumulating in her magical notebook. "The laundry will wait a day. Will you join me? Or are you itching to get to work?" His enthusiasm for mending thatch and scrubbing floors is remembered well and fondly.