Despite the heaviness that often weighs on Magnus’ soul, despite the discomfort that causes him to rise from half-slumber to find the tide or the border, he is soothed by the presence of families such as their own. All he had wanted was to help create a home where others would feel comfortable to rest their heads, where families would feel safe to rear their children without fear. Knowing that they were doing just that was a balm to his soul, easing his mind. Perhaps he would be able to sleep tonight.
Perhaps he would be able to rest.
Still, he holds thoughts of sleep at bay, his mind sharp and gold-flecked eyes kind as they consider them both. When Weir speaks, he tilts his head, not attempting to hide his confusion and subsequent curiosity that brightens his features. “Fulica americana?” he repeats, doing his best to sound out the words as they fall from his tongue, his mouth hopelessly clumsy around it. “I don’t think that I’ve ever heard of them.”
He drops his gaze for a moment when Eira rushes to Weir and molds into him, the intimacy of it heart warming—and yet he felt intrusive, his cheek turning to give them whatever privacy they might want for the brief encounter. His attention does return though at Eira’s question and his stomach twists painfully at the memory of their last training (his grip on control slipping, vision fading in and out).
“We have definitely been busy with training,” he confirms, rolling a scarred shoulder as if in memory of the brief but solid hits she had landed upon him. “Still, I have not seen her recently.” A frown pulls at the edges of his mouth and he looks to the horizon. “It is unlike her to go this long between bouts.”
out of the blue out into the loneliest place that you'll ever know
I carried the world just as far as I could but the damage had taken its toll
![[Image: gqYjsHr.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/KjqNDKxc/gqYjsHr.png)