#and it smells like fresh laundry bird feathers and cotton

[electricdisco]

I swear I can SMELL Emily’s bedroom

[mrskokushibo]

Sweetness

Mitsuri x fem!reader x Obanai

Warnings: Sex, Smut, NSFW, MDNI, 18+, Slight girl on girl action, Threesome

Summary: The atmosphere of a warm and sunny day at the start of spring permeates this short and hot smut. You get interrupted in your chores, but honestly, the distraction is exactly what your deprived body needs.

Masterlist

The otherwise so neat garden beds outside the Butterfly Mansion were in need of some pruning. As you were squatting and pulling out the freshly sprouted weeds, your efforts were accompanied by the gentle buzzing of bees collecting nectar from the delicate, first flowers of spring, and by the chirping of industrious little birds. The air was balmy, but not yet hot enough for you to brake in sweat, thus you were very comfortable and worked through the entire length of the garden bed without much effort.

Suddenly, there was a fluttery sound above you and as you looked up, two forest pigeons landed, one by one on a branch in the tree. The male was performing the courting dance routine, spreading his wide fan-like tail in an attempt to attract the female. You smiled to yourself at the ways of nature and proceeded to put away the gardening tools in the shed. As you washed your hands in the outdoor basin, you remembered to check on the laundry drying on the line on the other side of the courtyard.

You took your time strolling across the lawn to the clotheslines, the washing fluttering in the breeze, creating an opaque filter for the bright sunlight. It was already dry, the smell of freshly washed cotton overpowering the spring scents momentarily. You began the meticulous process of folding each and every sheet neatly and putting it down in the laundry hamper. It took a while, but you did not mind as it gave you time to savor the surrounding for a while longer.

Ready at last, you picked up the basket and began to walk toward the front door. As you looked up to the Sakura tree near the doorway, the two pigeons were now mating, the soft rustle of feathers and quiet guttural sounds accompanying the quick and ferocious ravage. You shook your head and smiled again.

The sweet scent of the spring air lingered on the linen now so neatly folded in the laundry basket that you were carrying. You sniffed the bedsheets, enjoying the fresh smell, and walked into the building closing the door behind you using one leg. The place was so quiet and clean, only a few dust particles were hovering in the ray of sunlight coming in through a side window. Other than that, it was spotless. Every time you had the Butterfly Mansion to yourself, you cleaned up and organized everything the way you wanted it to be. You took great pride in your unnoticed work. It did not bother you that you stayed in the shadows servicing the flamboyant, excentric hashiras, and demon slayers. You knew your effort provided them with a safe and cozy environment to recuperate and heal after their dangerous missions.

As you were walking through the long corridor, on your way to the storage room, you could not help but notice an open door at the very end of it. No one was supposed to be here at this time of day and you were told that the Hashira would all be out on missions this week. You slowed your footsteps and made them light and as silent as possible. But as you began nearing the room, quiet, muffled sounds were reaching your ears. At first, you thought that maybe the window was open and it was bird- and animal sounds that were coming in from the outside. And that maybe the opened window was what caused a draft that made an unlocked door fling undone. The closer you got though, the more you realised what these sounds were. You could now make out whispers and an occasional high-pitched giggle, blended with quiet moans and deep, raspy grunts… The sounds of, yes… sex…

Since you were quite unsatiated lately due to your lonely existence, your body began to react in that familiar and dizzying way. You quietened your steps even further and continued your advance toward the source of the lewd noises. It was now entirely obvious what was going on in that room and you began to make out familiar voices. Putting down the basket quietly on the floor, you decided to sneak up to the door and peek in. *Just a little peek* you told yourself. You did not want to be nosy, but at the same time, the urge to see what was going on was too strong, now that you were beginning to get aroused.

As you reached your destination, you could easily hide behind the half-open door and watch unnoticed, and there, on the bed were Mitsuri and Obanai, going at it like two rabbits. She was on her back, flushed cheeks, eyes closed, and moaning in pleasure, with Obanai between her legs humping away and eliciting deep grunts. He was squeezing her large and plump breasts and you could see how he was licking them and sucking on the erect little nipples adorning the two luscious and perfectly round plump mounds.

‘Oh, yes, baby. Suck them…just like that. This feels so good…’

‘You know how much I love these tits, my love. Just touching them makes me hard.’

He then whispered something inaudible in her ear, causing her to blush even more and giggle.

‘Well, make me come and then maybe I will let you put your cock between them. I wouldn’t mind some cum on my face.’

She giggled again and he grunted speeding up his pace.

Your panties were soaked now from this performance and your hand moved almost instinctively to touch yourself. At first, you were rubbing through the fabric, but soon enough, that was not enough and you moved them aside and began rubbing yourself between your folds, making your way to your now very stimulated clit.

Mitsuri was moaning louder now and within minutes, she climaxed, arching her back, causing her magnificent rack to bounce up a little. Obanai was not ready yet and he straddled her torso and positioned himself just beneath her breasts.

‘You promised’

He kissed her pouting mouth and squeezed her breast with his thighs, placing his cock between them, it was as if it got swallowed by them. He then began pumping and groaning loudly.

‘Fuuuuck…they feel good. I will not last long like this. Lick my tip, baby’

She stretched out her delicious little tongue and like a kitten lapping up milk, she was lapping up the precum on the tip of his cock whenever it was emerging from between the large tits.

‘I’m coming…oooh!’ He grunted and thick ropes of cum shot all over her neck and face.

You too were too aroused to hold back and came with a loud moan. And this was when they noticed their spectator.

‘What the fuck, I thought you said we were alone’ Obanai hissed, talking to Mitsuri, but looking annoyed in your direction.

‘No, dear, don’t be mad at her. We are the ones at fault here.’

She giggled and smiled at you.

‘Did you like what you saw?’

She tilted her head sweetly and you could not help, but think what an adorable person she really was.

‘You know, why don’t you join us? I feel like fucking some more.’

She turned to Obanai: ‘What do you say? Would you like some more? And think, fucking two girls instead of one. What a treat, hey?’

He mumbled something, but clearly, the temptation was taking the better of him, as you could see his cock already getting hard again.

‘All right, whatever you wish for, my sunshine.’ They kissed and Mitsuri stretched out a hand to you.

‘Come over, darling. Do not be shy. This will be fun.’ She smiled at you as you began walking over to her.

It was as if you were an insect lured in by the sweetness of honey, everything about Mitsuri oozed femininity and gentleness, it was as if she emanated a rosy aura that made your senses tingle and sing. Your slow, cautious footsteps at last placed you right next to her, touching her small, but surprisingly strong hand, you found yourself placing a kiss on her moist lips. It was as if you were in contact with a freshly bloomed rose, still moist with morning dew.

She began helping you to remove your clothes and very soon you were just as naked as the other two occupants of the room. Your eyes were fixated on her breast and she noticed.

‘Don’t be shy, sweetie. Touch them’

And without any more encouragement, you placed your hand on her roundness and began stroking and squeezing, causing her to moan a little. You continued to kiss, your tongues slowly finding each other and nudging gently between the softness of feminine lips. You could feel her hand slide down your belly, down to your sex, beginning to rub gently, with soft small movements. You did not want to leave her unattended and began to reciprocate the action.

The sweetness of it all was indescribable. A pleasure only comparable to biting into a plump, freshly made Sakura mochi or taking a cool bath after a hot day. There was heat too, a passion of a different kind, a wish for more, and a will to give. The lack of masculine aggression in the softness of both your actions and the pure and unadulterated lust for her touch was making your body almost limp. Your juices were streaming down your legs and you were both drowning in each other and in your arousal. You were getting very close to crossing over the line leading to the peaks of pleasure when you were interrupted by Obanai clearing his throat. He was obviously watching, engulfed in his own neediness, as you turned around, you could see him seated at the end of the futon, stroking his painfully hard cock.

Mitsuri looked at him with a smile, her hands still on your nipple and between your legs:

‘Oh, sorry Obi, we are neglecting you. How about you lie down and let us both take care of you.’

He did not wait and lay down flat lazily, while Mitsuri gave you another lewd kiss and directed you to where his head was.

‘How about we ride him... I take the cock and you take his face.’

You nodded and both of you took your respective positions facing each other. He groaned deeply as Mitsuri sank herself down on his hardness, her sweet high-pitched moaning making you want to touch her even more. She began riding him at a slow and gentle pace, her breasts bouncing only slightly. You were not fully seated on Obanai’s face yet, but that changed quickly when a pair of rough, strong hands grabbed your hips and pulled you down on his lips and stretched out tongue, that in an experienced manner found its way straight into your sopping wet pussy. You moaned now too as he was licking and swirling his tongue in and out of your opening.

‘Move a bit for me. You will have some more friction like that.’

You could hear him speak through the wet licking noises, his voice muffled by your cunt pressing on his mouth.

You began grinding your hips back and forth on his mouth, and sure enough, you started to feel so much more. As you worked out a good rhythm your attention went back to Mitsuri, who leaned into you, pressing her breasts against yours, the impossibly luscious softness against your own multiplied the pleasurable sensations and you began to caress her breasts and play with her nipples.

She reciprocated and soon you added the softest of kisses to the already so lustful actions. You felt on the edge of consciousness. Your core began to clench achingly and a few more bucks of your hips and you were squirting all over Obanai’s face while squealing noisily. As you kept riding out your high by continued grinding your hips on his mouth, you intensified your nipple action on Mitsuri’s breast. She could barely hold back and a moment later climaxed with a loud moan. The two of you were panting heavily, chests heaving and flushed cheeks covered with sweat. In the meantime, Obanai kept pumping into Mitsuri and as she kept kissing you, he threw a strong sloppy thrust into her and came with a quiet growl.

The three of you were now lying down, spent from your activities.

‘Well, that was quaint.’ Mitsuri giggled.

‘We should so do this more often, don’t you think?’

You could not help but agree. You nodded and closed your eyes, listening to the sweet sounds of spring coming through the window.

Banners by @cafekitsune and @adornedwithlight

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

Vesuvia Weekly: What it's like to hold the M6

~ my submission for this week's prompt - have some sappy headcanon drabble ^.^ ~

Julian

The sounds of leather folding and bending and creaking, of a pent up sigh, of a noble, anxious, too-big-for-its-own-good heartbeat fluttering against those thin, bird-like ribs

The smell of - yes, more leather - with a slight hint of sweat and the faded scent of the crushed herbs used to stuff doctor's masks

The feel of a well-worn, weather tested, oversized coat falling around both your frames, a cold set of bony fingers tangling into your hair through protective gloves

The sight of folded black cloth and slightly dulled metal buttons, a pale neck cradling your forehead, auburn stubble shivering over a bobbing adam's apple

The bitter taste of sea-salty lips, self-sacrifice, and coffee

Asra

The sound of an airy chuckle, a curious whisper, a deep, relaxed sigh, a heartbeat that touches your own with every gentle thump

The smell of smoking incense, sparkling spices, and syrupy vanilla, lurking beneath the petrichor of sunny spring rains on the dust of a far-off highway

The feel of a soft shawl on your cheek, sturdy linen body-warmed and slightly rough under your arms, heavy, heated hands running soothing pathways along your spine, cloud soft curls on your ears, a deceptively slight frame

The sight of golden metal and silvery blue stone on smooth skin, the barely-there rise and fall of a body slowly relaxing into yours

The taste of smoky tea, home, and desperate dedication

Nadia

The sound of rustling silks, the quiet clink of bracelets and rings, the hush of long, thick hair falling over chiffon-clad shoulders, a contented, throaty hum, a lofty heartbeat

The smell of jasmine, rose, pepper, and amber, of warm silk and chilled white wine, of flower gardens and powdery cosmetics

The feel of a heavy curtain of hair against your face, body warmth passing quickly through thin, gauzy sleeves wrinkling under your movements, of strong fingers tilting your chin into her collarbone

The sight of glinting gemstones and finely crafted metal, intricate embroidery stitches swirling across lustrous fabric, scalloped hemlines along sculpted shoulders

The taste of spiced fish, wine, and plush, commanding adoration

Muriel

The sound of heavy, rough cloth slowly dragging across itself, breaths hitching deep and slow, a grumble quiet and low enough to shake the earth, a nervous, powerful heartbeat

The smell of myrrh hanging around you like a cloud, of warm fur and chilly forest air, of falling leaves and running water and smoke

The feel of muscle and scruff, of radiating body heat, of massive, calloused palms alternating between gently splaying over your shoulders like blanketing weights and hovering cautiously around your waist in fluttering, feather like touches

The sight of thick, dark hair falling in choppy lengths over stubble and scar tissue, of thick green cloth over sinew

The taste of grilled forage and mead, of healing and steadfastness

Portia

The sound of an excited giggle, springing footsteps and jingling keys, a happy gasp and unstoppable heartbeat, a mischievous secret getting laughed into your ear

The smell of air-drying laundry and soap, hair oil and cocoa butter, fresh bread and sizzling butter and caramelizing berries

The feel of strong forearms, small, calloused hands, the push of energetic bouncing against your shoulder, of hair flying around your face, the plush squish of a no-holds-barred bear hug

The sight of fiery curls spilling over clean, pressed cotton, freckles speckling creamy skin, the occasional grey and white cat hair clinging to black ribbon, the dusk of a happy blush

The taste of yeasty bread, and the comforts of adventure

Lucio

The sounds of nearby dogs panting, a cutlass clanking in its sheath, the mechanical whir and musical hum of an alchemical arm, a confident, snorting chuckle and a devoted heartbeat

The smell of fresh sweat, warm metal, cinnamon alcohol in a journeyman's flask, hair gel and worn cologne

The feel of a padded, quilted vest, the quick rise and fall of an active chest, the slight tilt of a shoulder forever sloped in favor of a heavy arm, the sinewed grip of a warrior's touchstarved fingers and the cool, metallic touch of a careful clawed hand

The sight of sharp collarbones and glinting curved gold, fine flaxen hair at the nape of a snowy neck, crimson cloth and leather straps

The taste of grilled meat, traveler's wine, and new beginnings

[scapegrace74-blog]

New Ways of Turning into Stone, Chapter 4

A/N  Some strong reactions to the last chapter, which I admit caught me by surprise.   Writing is a funny craft, where you spend a lot of time and effort trying to show your reader exactly the picture you have in your mind, but then also have to surrender to each reader’s interpretation of what you wrote.  That said, some interpretations miss the mark entirely, and for that reason this chapter is entitled “False Assumptions”.   Trigger warning for childhood disease.

Jamie’s weekly appointments continued through the grey slumber of late April and into the wakening month of May.  Thursday became Claire’s favourite day of the week, for reasons she didn’t care to scrutinize too closely.

With regularity came a certain brand of predictability.  Their appointments took one of two forms, she realized.  Some days Jamie was full of life, witty and exasperating by turns.  He would spin long yarns about some trivial aspect of his life, fascinating tales that turned out to be nothing more than surface reflections, revealing little of the murky depths beneath.  He was also adept at using his considerable verbal charm to draw her into divulging more about herself than she ought.  Those visits left her equally frustrated and challenged.

The rest of the time her patient arrived with a weary slump, the thousand watt bulb of his personality dimmed to an occasional flicker.  Given his offhand comment about whisky and women, she tried not to ponder if he was hungover or suffering from the effects of an all-night hook-up.  From a diagnostic point of view these days of low ebb were beneficial because Jamie was far more likely to offer some nugget of inner revelation, truth sneaking out through the cracks of his weakened defences.

“I was away on business, in Hong Kong, when my Da passed,” he said on one such afternoon, the skin below his eyes drawn tight and the copper in his hair somehow muted.

“Did it happen suddenly?” 

“No’ really.  Jen had been at me fer months tae come hame, sayin’ that Da was workin’ himself tae death.”   Jamie looked out the window, eyes reflecting the overcast skies beyond.  “I ignored her.  Too wrapped up in my own grand self tae pay any heed.  Twas Ian, my brother-in-law, who called tae say Da had dropped in the pasture.  Massive coronary.  I caught the first flight back, but he was gone before I landed.”

She watched Jamie���s face closely as he spoke, but beyond the understandable emotion of reliving the sudden loss of a parent, he remained inscrutable.  The urge to draw him out overcame the deference she paid to Jamie’s well-defined boundaries.

“Do you think you’re to blame for his death?” she asked, half-expecting to be met with silence or a nimble deflection.

Jamie shook his head ruefully.

“Nah.  I dinna think I’m tae blame.  I ken it.  I was the only surviving son, ye see?  In the Highlands, tradition is everything, an’ a Fraser man had worked those lands fer generations.  I was only meant tae complete my studies abroad, an’ then return tae Lallybroch and take o’er from Da.  Instead, I left my sister an’ Ian tae watch o’er the farm while I played the business tycoon.”

“Is Lallybroch still in your family?” she wondered aloud, the name rolling about in her mouth like marbles.  

“Jenny and Ian couldna keep it.  I wasna well enough tae object, an’ they sold tae a developer.  It’s some kind of corporate wellness retreat now,” he finished with a distasteful grimace.

For every disclosure Jamie made, two more questions arose in its wake, like hacking away at a many-headed Hydra.  She wished she could delve further, but the chime from her computer announced the end of the session.

“Will I see you next week, Jamie?” she asked as he reluctantly rose to leave.

“Aye,” said with a sad smile.  “I’ll be here.”

***

The following Tuesday, Claire took the afternoon off work to perform an errand she’d long been avoiding.

Her departure from the Royal Hospital for Children had been so precipitous, she hadn’t filed the necessary paperwork to close her employment file.  The Human Resources department had been pestering her to complete the process for months.  The threat of holding up the transfer of her accreditation finally forced her hand.

To her great relief, the personnel offices were nowhere near the actual wards.  They lay at the end of a long white hallway broken by large windows looking into a series of meeting and activity rooms.  Her plan was to get in, sign the damn forms, and leave without running into any former colleagues or patients.   

The sun slanting into one of these sparsely furnished rooms glanced off the top of a bent head, causing it to glow like a freshly minted penny.  She stopped and stared, trying to reconcile the image of James Fraser seated in a too-small plastic chair, surrounded by a group of hospital-gowned children.

He must have caught sight of her while she stood gaping.  Running to the door before she could find the motor function to turn around, he called out joyfully from behind a blue hospital mask.

“Doctor Beauchamp!  Fancy meeting ye here.”

She mumbled something incoherent, damning herself for the blush she felt enveloping her cheeks.   Behind Jamie, a row of dewy eyes watched on.   She recognized the paper-thin skin and missing hair of chemotherapy patients, and a salty knot rose in her throat.

“Can ye spare a few minutes? Ye’re jes the pair of steady hands we need.”

She longed to decline, to disappear, to come up with a plausible excuse why she couldn’t enter that room.  Her heart thumped angrily in her chest, warning of its fragile state.

Seeing her conflict, Jamie extended a welcoming hand.

“Come, Sassenach.  The lassies would love tae meet ye.”

The space smelled of sterile laundry and sawdust.  With a habit borne of years of practice, Claire disinfected her hands in the small utility sink and donned a spare mask from the nearby dispenser, all while wondering what the hell she was doing.

The children were seated on colourful chairs arranged around a low table, its surface covered in pieces of pre-cut lumber, colourful pots of paint, a glue gun and all manner of cheap decorations such as you would find at a craft store.  The little girls ranged in age from pre-school to young teen, but they all looked at Jamie as though he’d hung the moon as he addressed them.

“Ladies, I’d like ye tae meet Doctor Beauchamp.  She’s a braw doctor but I bet she kens next tae nothing about woodwork.  Ye’ll have tae show her how it’s done.”

A chorus of nervous giggles was the only response.  Claire knew from experience that being a medical professional wasn’t going to endear her to children who spent much of their lives being essentially tortured in the name of science, hoping for some kind of miracle.

“Hello, everyone,” she waved meekly.  “You can call me Miss Claire, if you like.  Now, whatever are you doing with all this wood?”

It turned out that Jamie was supervising the construction of a half-dozen birdhouses.  He had pre-cut the lumber for easy assembly, but was assisting each girl to create a custom masterpiece that would hang outside her hospital window.  With the patience and steady manner of a primary school teacher, Jamie led the group through each step.  

A waifish girl of perhaps six sat directly to Claire’s left, her bare scalp covered by a brightly coloured bandana, offset by a huge pair of peacock-blue eyes that glimmered above her mask.  Eyes that were the mirror of the ones that visited her office every Thursday.  Something heavy settled inside her ribs.

“What’s your name, sweetie?” she asked in a low voice as she pushed an open pot of sky blue paint away from the table’s edge.  Small hands busied themselves pulling apart a package of cotton balls that looked suspiciously like the ones kept in the hospital’s supply cabinet.

“Margaret Murray, Doctor, errr, Miss Claire,” came the timid reply.  

Not Fraser, then.  But that didn’t necessarily mean anything.  She snuck a glance across the table at Jamie, who was just then teasing the youngest girl by tickling her cheeks with a fake feather.  Despite her heavy thoughts, she couldn’t help but smile.  That smile faltered when she noticed that the inside of Jamie’s elbows bore a matching set of fresh bandages.   A series of puzzle pieces tumbled into place.

Perhaps sensing the weight of her scrutiny, Jamie looked their way, whistling in admiration when he saw Maggie’s near-complete birdhouse.

“Tis a fine hame ye’ve built fer yer wee birds, Maggie.  What is all yon white fluff for?”

“Tis clouds, Uncle Jamie,” Maggie replied with the certainty of childhood.  “I dinna want the birdies tae miss the sky, even when they arenna flyin’.”

Claire watched the words hit him as surely as though they had been bullets.  A frozen gasp, a shudder that travelled the length of his body and the crest of tears that he tried valiantly to blink away.

“Aye, ye’re right, a nighean.  Any bird would be fair honoured tae sleep in yer skyhouse,” he managed to reply, voice bouldery with contained emotion.

When each birdhouse was complete and left along the window ledge to dry, Jamie set his small crew of helpers the task of clearing up the mess.   Claire stood next to him as he loaded his tools back into a small carrying case.

“Thanks for inviting me to join you, Jamie.  It was... well, it was unexpectedly wonderful,” she admitted.

“Ye’re most welcome, Doctor Beauchamp.  We couldna have managed wi’out yer steady hand manning the glue gun,” he teased.

“You’re not my patient here, Jamie.  You don’t need to use my title,” she said, a bit vexed by his formality.

“Aye, but it doesna feel right tae call ye by yer given name either.  An’ Miss Claire is jes weird.”

She had to acknowledge that he had a point.

“What was it you called me earlier?  Sassa-something?”

“Sassenach.  My Da woulda skelped my hide if he heard me call a lady by that name,” he said ruefully.

“Why, does it mean something terribly offensive?”  She was almost afraid to know, having enjoyed the delusion that Jamie felt as fondly towards her as she did towards him.

“Nah, tis jes an old-fashioned word for an English person in Scotland.  Seemed tae suit ye, is all.”  He shrugged, seemingly embarrassed by the explanation.

“Well then, Sassenach it is.  When I’m not on the clock, that is.”

Jamie’s eyes danced above his mask the way they did when he smiled, and she imagined hers replied in much the same way.  A long moment passed when nothing was said, neither of them looking away.

“You’re her platelet donor,” she said at last.  “Maggie’s, I mean.”

“Aye.  Every week while she’s in hospital for chemotherapy.  Tis the least I can do.”

It was an explanation that fit all the facts, but one that she never would have guessed.  Jamie had always worn long sleeves to his appointments, but she was certain the weeks when he was haggard and worn out coincided with the times he was donating the litres of blood necessary to distill into the platelet concentrate that would then be injected into Maggie’s body, helping her combat the poisonous effects of her chemotherapy.

“Whisky, women and song?” she prodded, relieved and yet frustrated that his offhand comment had kept her from seeing the truth.  “Why didn’t you just tell me, Jamie?”

“I didna want yer pity, Sassenach.  Fer once in my life, tis no’ about me, ye ken?  I didna want ye lookin’ at me like I was some kind of hero.”

She held back her reaction that his was a textbook definition of heroism, and instead asked the next obvious question.

“Are you a compatible bone marrow donor as well?”

Jamie shook his head slowly.  Although he was a close match, he explained, it wasn’t close enough.   Maggie’s older brother, Wee Jamie, was a perfect match but the law prohibited him from becoming a donor until he was at least sixteen, in seven long years.

“We’re jes tryin’ tae buy her enough time,” he said sadly before stepping out of the room, explaining he’d be back momentarily.

Claire stood in a daze, running through everything she’d assumed about Jamie in light of these newest facts.  A light tug on her hand drew her back into the moment.  Maggie was looking up at her with wide, trusting eyes.

“Are ye the Sassenach lady Uncle Jamie and my Mam argue about?”

“I suppose I might be,” she replied, curious what had been said between the siblings that Maggie had overheard.

“Are ye a heart doctor?” Maggie continued.

“Well, no.  Not exactly.  I’m the kind of doctor who helps people who are sad, and I try to find a way for them to be happy again.”  It sounded so easy when explaining it to a six year old.

“Sometimes Mam and Da talk about Uncle Jamie when they dinna ken I’m listenin’.  I’m verra good at sneakin’,” Maggie confided, and Claire couldn’t help but smile.  What a precious child.    “I’m sure you are,” she replied warmly, a hand coming to rest gently on the tiny cloth-covered head.

“Mam says Uncle Jamie is more stubborn than a mule and that he canna see past his own big heid,” Maggie continued.  Claire couldn’t say that she disagreed with that assessment.

“But Da says Uncle Jamie’s heart has been broken too many times, and thas’ why he’s given up on living.  Can ye fix his heart, Miss Claire, so that it isna broken any more?”

She couldn’t have stopped her tears if she tried.   She knelt on the floor and gathered Maggie’s thin, fragile body in her arms.

“Oh, Maggie.  I’m certainly going to try.”