[ Bastien takes his time. At the mention of treacle, the household is in some great disorder, his head drifts sideways to nudge against Byerly's arm and remains there, while his smile stretches wider with each sentence. Reserved, but warm. Not unlike the carefully restrained hope on By's face.
With only Byerly's comments on her and Byerly himself to build Nadine out of, he imagines this the last of several drafts, the words that remained after others were agonized over and discarded. Gone, a phrase that sounded too much like it blamed him for taking so long. Gone, a sentence that was too silly, because she is writing to an ambassador she can no longer claim to know well. Gone, a paragraph that was too hungry and enthusiastic, because she has something of Byerly in her. A little part that is afraid of hoping for too much until it is forced into her hands and she has been reassured thrice over that it won't be taken away. A little part that likewise senses fear in others and takes care not to move too quickly, the same way By has always been so patient in waiting for Bastien. Perhaps a little part that does feel abandoned or forgotten and hesitant to trust again—but with the door left open, if he'll come find her.
Perhaps Bastien is entirely off the mark. He looks forward to learning enough to know for certain, eventually. For now, as he finishes the last lines, all his relief and happiness bubbles up out of his chest and emerges as, ]
Byerly.
[ He is careful not to crease the letter as he pulls Byerly around, arm around his waist joined by a hand on his shoulder to drag him along in a quick, spinny, peasanty dance. He will be unreservedly overjoyed enough for all of them together. ]
no subject
With only Byerly's comments on her and Byerly himself to build Nadine out of, he imagines this the last of several drafts, the words that remained after others were agonized over and discarded. Gone, a phrase that sounded too much like it blamed him for taking so long. Gone, a sentence that was too silly, because she is writing to an ambassador she can no longer claim to know well. Gone, a paragraph that was too hungry and enthusiastic, because she has something of Byerly in her. A little part that is afraid of hoping for too much until it is forced into her hands and she has been reassured thrice over that it won't be taken away. A little part that likewise senses fear in others and takes care not to move too quickly, the same way By has always been so patient in waiting for Bastien. Perhaps a little part that does feel abandoned or forgotten and hesitant to trust again—but with the door left open, if he'll come find her.
Perhaps Bastien is entirely off the mark. He looks forward to learning enough to know for certain, eventually. For now, as he finishes the last lines, all his relief and happiness bubbles up out of his chest and emerges as, ]
Byerly.
[ He is careful not to crease the letter as he pulls Byerly around, arm around his waist joined by a hand on his shoulder to drag him along in a quick, spinny, peasanty dance. He will be unreservedly overjoyed enough for all of them together. ]
Her dearest brother!