.a kinship.

Her humming was soft and distracted, but overheard nonetheless; she heard Balthier's footsteps and stopped, but too late. He came up to her seat where she piloted their Strahl and he said, "You seem in unusually high spirits."

Fran turned her head to consider him, and smiled fleetingly. "High spirits? I merely hum, pirate."

"With you, the one is pretty much the other," he said.

He knew her too well to be dissuaded. Fran let her eyes slip closed, the ship to pilot itself for a moment, and she thought of fate.

Winter was a time of quietude and reflection. She remembered it well: the voice of the Wood grew dormant as if in sleep, and the viera held festivities to show respect for the ancient and hibernating wilderness. Gifts of food and wine for the trees, songs to celebrate the mysteries of nature, and silent evenings of meditation and visitation -- on one's life, on one's family, on one's world.

She had chosen to leave it all behind. Still, winter was the time to think about what might have been, if only...

"'tis the winter solstice," she told Balthier instead.

He leaned in over her shoulder, peering at the stars. Hardly a beat passed, and he said, "Ah. Early this year, the showboater. Interfering with our shopping plans."

Fran found herself smiling again, more. Her partner did not disrespect the natural world -- on the contrary, she believed he held it in quite high esteem, for a hume. It was simply that he also held himself in similarly high esteem. She scolded, "Should the stars have asked your schedule afore they aligned in the sky?"

"It would only have been considerate," he said mildly. "I always consult them before making my plans."

She shook her head, but amusement had now tempered her introspection.

"Is that a song of solstice I heard?" Balthier asked, leaning against the dash, all lean and casual, owning his surroundings the way that he did. "We had those in Archades, you know. I was thoroughly sick of them as a boy, but I'd make an exception if my leading lady took her rare spotlight."

"I've never seen you pass up quality entertainment," she said, equally glib, but the reminder was well-served. He, too, had chosen to leave his world and his family behind to find his freedom in the skies.

They had long been more kin to one another than their own flesh and blood.

"You say that like I'm not generous with my own entertainment." He turned his gaze away, and said neutrally, "I've cooked."

Fran looked up, and back at him. "You? Is Nono bedridden?" she drawled, teasing him.

Balthier tossed her a playful grin. "He's not bad, as far as chefs of miniature height go. But I felt like something a touch classier tonight."

She had never told him that the viera's celebration of the solstice was special. He must have put it together himself -- judging from her distance and her melancholy each year as the winter mark drew near.

Fran studied his face. He wasn't looking at her again; considering instead the viewport behind her, and the neck of a bottle of wine in his hand. He tapped his shoulder with it, subtle as if the gesture was not designed to call attention to the bottle he seemed to have no overt interest in.

She closed her eyes again, and then reached out to put the Strahl's auto-pilot back into gear.

"Then it would be inconsiderate to let it cool," she said, standing. "And I would not like to be grouped in with the likes of the stars."

Balthier laughed, waving to indicate that she should precede him into the back, to food and wine and new family.