Anna Akhmatova, White Flock

Anna Akhmatova, White Flock

[ If you have enjoyed my portrayal of Tamlin in asks, feel free to follow @enchantedelain. My new venture into the soft soul of Elain Archeron. Primarily so that @lorcandidlucienwill can spam me with Elucian asks to write — tbh.

I always want more things to write and am apparently shameless about that. ]

The Angel Oak Tree Located: South Carolina

"I'm... kind of scared."

“Just breathe.” Tamlin whispered in Feyre’s ear, as he held her posture firm and guided her hands with the new bow that she held. “I know you can fight. You are one of the bravest people I have ever met.”

He stayed right by her side, carefully knocking an arrow. They were finely crafted weapons — made from maple and sharp iron — formidable in the right hands. After Rhysand’s sudden appearance in his home, Tamlin had a sinking feeling that even his protection was not enough for Feyre. Not when Amarantha and her cuckold of spies was constantly lurking.

He needed to ensure that she was better equipped to protect herself than she’d ever been before. Training her to fight was an honor, and he would have been glad to fight by her side. Yet, it also left a hole in his chest. It was the final straw. He knew that she could no longer stay in Pyrthian.

“Draw the bow.” Tamlin encouraged. She was a fine shooter, but letting her go was the only way to keep her truly safe. “And release.”

The arrow sprung from the bow, sinking into the center of the target. He felt relief. Good — she had not lost her touch after nearly a year.

A reserved smile graced his lips. “Excellent shot.”

Feyre turned to him with a rush of new life in her eyes. “Excellent teacher.”

His heart skipped a beat in his chest, quickening as her excitement filled the fresh air. He couldn’t — her soft lips against his own silenced any protest that his mind could create.

Tamlin’s guard fell. He pulled her into his arms, in the grassy field, letting the delight of the moment overwhelm the concerns of the future. Now was all they had left. By the cauldron, he was going to enjoy it.

by Mihaylov