Seeker didn’t say a word as the crowd slowly left—even the sheep seemed unusually hushed.
Beautiful turned to him. “What’s your plan for today?”
“Not sure, baby. Maybe a bit of reading in the tower. Anything new you’re working on?”
“I’m bored, Seeker,” she said, sticking out her lower lip in a pout.
“What’s new, Beautiful? You’re always bored.”
“Let’s do something fun,” she said. “Some kind of adventure. Like we used to.”
“How about the stream?” he asked.
“Boring,” she said flatly. “Besides, we went there last night. It’s so much more fun in the Dream, where we can splash without getting wet.”
“Getting wet’s the point of water.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” she said. “You don’t have long, curly hair like me.” She emphasized the word curly. She knew he adored her curls. She always knew how to win.
A young shepherd boy ran up to them, breathless, with scraps of paper flapping in one hand and a stub of charcoal in the other. Black smudges streaked his cheeks and nose. “Ma’am, ma’am,” he called to Beautiful, “Draw a picture?”
“Miss,” she snapped.
The boy didn’t hear her—or didn’t care. He turned to Seeker instead, eyes wide and eager. “Sir, just a couple of coins. Mama’s sick. Draw a picture of your wife?”
“Just call me Seeker—”
“Not his wife… yet,” Beautiful said, ruffling his hair.
Then she sat, folded her hands in her lap, tossed back her hair, and tilted her head slightly.
The boy couldn’t have been more than ten—but he was good. He sketched slowly, carefully, while Beautiful posed with a soft smile. The proportions were right. The shading was—flawless, really. Now and then, the boy glanced up. First at her. Then at Seeker.
When the boy finished, he handed the sketch to Seeker. It was beautiful. Clean lines. Balanced shading. But something felt… off. He couldn’t quite place it. His brow furrowed.
Beautiful snatched it from his hands. “This doesn’t look like me at all.” She studied the drawing, then looked at Seeker. Then back at the paper. “It looks more like him than me, you little rascal. Only—” She burst out laughing.
“Begging your pardon, ma’am,” the boy said, glancing at Seeker, then back at her. “I drew your daughter, not you.”
Beautiful’s mouth fell open. A tear slipped down her cheek.
“Wait…” she said softly, holding the picture closer. “You mean you—combined us?”
The boy just grinned.
Seeker blinked. Not Beautiful. Not him. A little of both.
“I think it’s wonderful,” Seeker said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Beautiful pulled a silver coin from her handbag, pressed it into the boy’s hand, then curled his fingers around it. “Your mama’s going to be okay,” she said. “If she doesn’t get better soon, bring her to the Cottage. You know where that is, right?”
The boy nodded.
“If she’s too sick, you come,” Beautiful added. “Ask for Beautiful.” She hesitated, then added, “Or Miss Cheerful. One of us will come help her.”
The boy gave a deep, awkward bow, then scampered off.
Seeker stood there, gazing at the picture for a long time.
“I love it,” he said at last.
“Me too,” she replied, squeezing his hand.
