Forelithe, SR 1426

She woke pleasantly sore, the hum of sunlight warm on her skin. When she turned, she found the sunlight even more pleasant as it warmed her husband's skin. She did not giggle, but she smiled, and she ducked her head low, pressed a kiss against his chin. Moro murmured something, and tilted his head. Then Celandine's stomach gave a faint grumble, and Moro's one that was even louder, and his eyes snapped open wide. The moment stretched long, and then he laughed, and she laughed, too, and Moro wound his arms about her neck, and brought his mouth to hers.

They rose, and ate, and washed, then went to the kitchen, and planned to eat again: Moro, in his dressing gown, told Celandine to sit and keep watch, that he would cook their second breakfast. Celandine could not sit and stay idle, and rose, thinking him wonderful, handsome, standing in the yellow morning light. She did not seek to bother him, and interrupted him instead with only good intent: her arms about his waist, kissing his neck, breathing against his ear. She distracted him so well that their stomachs were made to wait on proper sustenance a while longer yet.

They made good morning a number of times, that morning, and into the afternoon – but that was tradition, almost: then, when the sun had begun its westering, though there were still some long hours left to the day, Moro went to Celandine, and said, 'I've something for you'. She had expected it, of course, and she told him she had a present for him, too: and he had expected that, just as well. They sat on a broad swinging chair, in the shadow of a broad stretching oak that stood outside the little cottage: and there they'd exchange their gifts.

It was tradition of another sort to exchange wedding bands the morning after: a personal exchange, that involved the husband and wife only. Now Moro held Celandine's hand, so warm and strong, and his eyes so warm and deep. And the ring, simple, glimmering, gold. If her mother had been here, she'd have said something about it meaning that their love would last through any end, that they would go on forever. But her mother was miles away, and here Moro was, waiting – she slid his ring on, not needing ceremony or flowery words, and brought her mouth to his.