(Mirie it is while sumer y-last With fugheles son.)
Even in the evening, in the Summer Country, it is far too warm to wear the wool coat Bran brought with him beyond the North Wind. Instead, when Bran comes out to walk in the gardens this evening, he's dressed in the least unfamiliar clothing in the wardrobe from his rooms here: plain black trousers from a nineteenth-century formal suit, and a simple white button-down shirt.
(Oc nu neheth windes blast And weder strong.)
Bran's not looking for anyone, really. He's only restless, with the pressure of the magics pressing on his head. When he sees Guinevere he stops and smiles. "Good evening, mother."
They turn into a path hedged with neat juniper bushes and lined with beds of flowers and ornamental grasses. The muscles at Bran's neck are tensed, and he moves like a man under strain, but he says, only, "Beautiful, it is, here. I knew it would be."
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With fugheles son.)
Even in the evening, in the Summer Country, it is far too warm to wear the wool coat Bran brought with him beyond the North Wind. Instead, when Bran comes out to walk in the gardens this evening, he's dressed in the least unfamiliar clothing in the wardrobe from his rooms here: plain black trousers from a nineteenth-century formal suit, and a simple white button-down shirt.
(Oc nu neheth windes blast
And weder strong.)
Bran's not looking for anyone, really. He's only restless, with the pressure of the magics pressing on his head. When he sees Guinevere he stops and smiles. "Good evening, mother."
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They turn into a path hedged with neat juniper bushes and lined with beds of flowers and ornamental grasses. The muscles at Bran's neck are tensed, and he moves like a man under strain, but he says, only, "Beautiful, it is, here. I knew it would be."
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