Basic Thaumaturgy for the Emotionally Incompetent

Some minutes later, Fabrisse was crouched near the base of a leafless tree, both hands shielding a shallow indentation he’d cleared in the dirt. A few brittle twigs and shaved bark curls lay cradled inside like a nest made of frustration and secondhand kindling. Dubbie had slumped sideways against the tree trunk nearby, fingers intertwined, head tilted just enough to keep one eye on him out of sheer obligation. Her other eye was already half-lidded in sleep.