"Maybe it is." Yseult's agreement is easy. Everything feels easy here, like this. The knit of the worn-soft blanket against her calf, the sun already baking pleasantly into her bones. She is propped up on a rolled blanket facing Darras, her crossed ankles stretched out past his head, bare heels in the grass. She lays down the book on her stomach to reach over and pet the cat on his.

"When we're here all the time we'll have to read stories about blizzards and remember that winter we spent in the Vinmarks, so that we appreciate it."