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Ansharil smiles, too.

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Elven weddings are simple - so much of the guesswork that humans and so on like to shore up with ritual is handled by soul-sympathy. Magania speaks, and Isibel and Ansharil speak, and it's done, and all that remains is to feast.

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Ooh, feasting.

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Feasting, and sappy looks between bride and groom, and Rania cooing over her child, and Cariel giving Ansharil possibly approving nods that are probably meaningful if you are actually a male elf and not pretending.

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The sappy looks are Ansharil's favourite part.

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The feasting is Liselen's!

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And eventually Rania and Cariel go home.

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And so do Magania and Liselen.

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And Ansharil scoops up Isibel and kisses her.

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Scooping! Kissing! Isibel approves. These are good things.

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Perhaps they should go and have some more sex. Ansharil is vaguely aware that some cultures consider that a marriage tradition.

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Some do! They should belong to one.

(And then - she will finally go catch up with other things.)
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Yes. That seems like a good plan.

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Hello again, Isibel's tree!

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It is such a lovely tree. Ansharil is pleased with it.

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Best tree.

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Indeed it is.

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Anyway.

There was a week that has gone by before she received the time-dilation suggestion, and there are other Bells and a restored Jane to catch up with.

Out of her tree goes Isibel, a bit later, Ansharil on her shoulder.
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He is being small and furry and snuggly. Snuggle snuggle.

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He is the best for snuggling, whatever shape he takes. Perhaps unless he decides to experiment with being a porcuipine.

Isibel checks with her various helpers about the events of the world over the past week, and then she asks Jane to ask Lazarus if in a few days he will find it convenient to supervise the addition of another Bonded to their Bond and making sure it does not intrude more than Lycaelon would like.
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Of course he would.

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That is good.

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