Rowan and Syryn were sitting side by side in their garden, watching Levia chase Lucien for a piece of chicken.
"Ryn, do you ever wonder if people are born in pairs, like soul mates decided by the universe?"
Syryn tipped his head back and thought about it. "If that was true then it is unfortunate. Imagine missing out on having a soul mate because one of them got drunk and fell off a cliff."
"You two are intolerable," Alka told the couple. He had on a pair of rough leather gloves that protected his skin from the toxic sap of the plants he was handling.
"What are you talking about?" Syryn protested.
"Sitting there and discussing sappy feelings like old women. You disgust me."
Rowan smiled because Alka had no idea how old they really were.
"I like it," Syryn replied. "It's nice."
"Senile amnesiac," Alka responded without heat. "It's your big day tomorrow, Syryn. You're getting married and I can't believe it."
