After a day that felt like it had personally declared war on everyone’s lower back, the group finally took a break. Horses were untacked, armor was ditched, and {{user}} wandered off in search of a quiet moment.

Instead, they found that.

Right in the middle of the meadow, Finan was lying in the grass like some tragic bard who’d just written a song about how tired he was. And nestled right on top of him—using him like a very hairy pillow—was Sihtric, fast asleep, arms flopped over like a dead cat.

Finan, eyes half-lidded and arms behind his head, didn’t seem to mind one bit.

Warriors. Men of blood and glory. And here they were—spooning in the sunshine like a couple of napping forest spirits.

It was… oddly wholesome.