Lachlan & Reagan | Early evening
Similarly, Heuris Turning had always been a challenging time for Reagan. Letting go was never something she could consider a forte, and it was the first time in a very long stretch that she'd been home to tend to her father's cairn with her mother. Coraline, to her credit, had not dwelt overly long on the sentimentality of it after the first or second withering look had been passed her way, and the time they spent together had been all the more meaningful for the silence, the wordless way they worked together to lay wreaths of flowers upon the stones. A quiet picnic had transpired afterwards, surprisingly pleasant with the conversation turned solely to focus upon remembrance rather than the more typical busy-bodied nature of such dialogue.
The service's translation had struck a chord in Reagan; it served as yet another reminder of what her gown so wordlessly portrayed. It did not feel inclusive but rather another concession granted to those who would rather scoff at their traditions than truly engage with them.
When would they stop taking?
With the bonfires lit Reagan had taken leave of Coraline, a brief embrace during which the elder Shrike woman had tucked a buttery primrose into one of the long, thick plates braided into her hair. She had craned up to whisper into her daughter's ear, and if Reagan did not know better she might have suspected her mother Gifted with some sort of telepathy, a foresight into the very burden she planned to release to the flames that night:
"You are brave, daughter."
Glassy-eyed, her hold had tightened on her mother's hips like a child before she seperated from her, tilted her chin in a showing of such bravery, and then strode away to find a quiet place around the flames.
It was easier said than done, with everyone gathered around to offer their own tokens into the roaring conflagration. She did not want company for this. She'd always felt this portion of the Heuris Turning to be a bit invasive anyway, and this year that felt all the more poignant. When she came back to the celebration there was a small exclamation point of consternation set between her brows, and she visibly startled when her dearest friend's voice permeated through the fog of her tumultuous thoughts.
Chin tilted upwards, she beheld Lachlan with a sweep of her eyes that had been borne of years of careful, practiced subtlety. Tall, lean, and strong, she suspected that she was not the first to have paused upon the sight of him half-dressed. The contradiction of pale skin against his raven hair was as striking as it had ever been; the flames reflected his sky-blue eyes so they gleamed golden. She did not believe for a moment that her mother was actually searching for her; she had only just parted from her shortly before, and if Coraline had managed to snag Lachlan for a chat then she very much doubted that she would have requested something so benign of him. Her daughter's friendship with the Winnan gardener was one of the few topics of gossip that she had not been able to crack. Reagan was only ever reluctant to indulge her in two things, and those were her relationships with the two men closest to her.
Under normal circumstances such a lie might have annoyed her. They were beyond such trivial small-talk, beyond the need for reason to engage with one another. But today was different, she knew, especially for him. He might have been laden with enough grief and regret to fuel the entire pyre himself.
He was not looking at her, but the corners of her eyes tightened into a smile at him nonetheless, one hand reaching for the crook of his arm to wind fingers around the hard muscle there. She leaned into him. "Liar," she accused softly; she wouldn't let him off the hook entirely, but there was no smack of irritation in the word. In fact, it landed quite like a term of affection. "But I'll play along. Tell her to call off the hounds. I've been found." A pause. She followed his sweeping gaze out into the crowds, then lifted focus back to study his profile. It must have been difficult for him, without his sister here. She squeezed his arm.