Advertising for a giveaway!

My awesome friend Faith is hosting a giveaway, right here:

http://faithblum.wordpress.com/2013/10/25/amazing-surprising-fun-exciting-giveaway/

It's part of a thing called the No Fear Indie Blog Hop. Basically, there are a ton of fun giveaways to enter, and Faith's is one of them. I encourage you to check it out!

Book Review: "The Missing Kitten"

I actually read this book (by the talented Jesse Rice) a while back; I was one of the people Jesse had help out with the editing. I’ve been meaning to write this review for quite a while, but I procrastinate terribly. *sheepish half-smile* 

However, I am writing it now. So, without further ado – the book review of The Missing Kitten.

The first thing I’m going to mention is that, though I believe the book was aimed towards a younger audience, it will be enjoyable to people of any age – I’m sixteen, and I enjoyed every single page of the book. So don’t let the age range you perceive the book to be aimed at deter you from checking it out, I beseech thee!

Here is the description of the book, as seen on Amazon:

Missing In Action!
When imaginative Rambo discovers his kitten friend Seabert has vanished, he isn’t immediately worried. However, once he starts looking, he finds himself drawn into a plot involving a catnapping and a scheme to destroy the farm. Can Rambo rescue his friend from the forest, or will Seabert be lost forever?

I don’t know about the rest of you, but that description alone would be enough to convince me to buy the book.

The Missing Kitten is a story of excitement, adventure, loyalty, and courage. You find yourself emotionally invested in the characters quite soon off; all of them are very third-dimensional and fun to read about. They all have quirks and flaws, just like real-life humans (and animals!) do.

Okay, all of my excited rambling aside, I’ll get on to the pros and cons. And don’t expect many cons, just as a heads-up.
~~
Pros:
- The characters were well-developed and extremely likeable. You find yourself mentally cheering them on and hoping the protagonists succeed in their mission. I believe that Jesse Rice did a very good job, however, of not making all of the antagonists completely unlikeable either; some of the antagonists have a side to them that make the reader sympathize somewhat—but not enough to stop rooting for the good guys. That is a hard balance to meet, but Jesse meets it perfectly.


- There is a well-kept balance between the excitement; there is plenty to keep a person turning the pages, but it’s not all action, all the time, which is always a good balance to have in a book.

- The writing style and choice of words are easy enough for younger readers to understand, but not so much so as to bore older readers. Somehow, Jesse managed to write it so that both older and younger readers could enjoy it.
~~
Cons:
- Uhhh… the only cons I could find were fixed in the last edit of the book, to be honest. *grins* I’m telling the truth, I really don’t have any cons for this book. It’s a wonderful story!
~~
So yes, I think that’s all there really is to say! If you get the chance, definitely check out this book; it’s well worth it. And, there will be more. A sequel is already in the works. If you like this first book, then you’ll get to read more!

If you have any questions about the book, let me know, and I’ll answer them!

God bless.

~ Theodora Ashcraft

A Call For Beta-Readers

I'm actually rather nervous about this, because I've never had a beta-reader before. *smiles a bit*

My latest project - Tomorrow's Bones - has, in a way, seized hold of me and now has me trapped. In other words, I haven't felt this worked up over a story in quite a while. Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm still very excited about the prospect of finally getting to work on my fantasy trilogy.

However, that is going to be a large undertaking, and something I have high hopes for; I want to take my time with working on it.

Tomorrow's Bones, on the other hand, is, in all likelihood, a standalone. Not only that, but it's going to be fairly less complex than the Songs of Old trilogy.

So, being this excited about it, I want to start writing it as soon as I have the plot at least mostly figured out. Except I have the tendency to either lose steam very quickly, or procrastinate horribly. As many of you probably know.

So, I was thinking perhaps beta-readers might help me get on track. :)

I've not written a logline yet, unfortunately, but I'm working on it. For now, here's a bit of a statement on what the story (or what I have of it planned out) is about.

Two years after someone killed Lenard Calderano and stole his starship, a ragtag group of people - the starship's navigator, his fiery young friend, an adventurous security guard, two ex-soldiers, and Calderano's own daughter - embark on a journey to find out who killed Calerano, and why.

I just realized that sounds pretty typical for sci-fi and/or mystery. Well, one thing that might play a part of the novel that could pique ya'll's interest - there are two rooms, the Future Room and the Past Room. Together, they're called the Time Rooms. And something went wrong while they were being invented that makes them quite dangerous...

Nope, I'm not telling you what that is, because I have to keep some mystery about it. *grins mischievously*

It is also told from two viewpoints, I probably should mention that. :)  I hope to keep it from being too confusing though.

That's about all I have to say on it at the minute; here's the Pinterest board for the novel if anyone's interested:

http://www.pinterest.com/homesickdreamer/tomorrows-bones/

And here are links to excerpts I wrote with some of the characters, if you want to see a bit of that:

http://whispersofwindandsong.blogspot.com/2013/07/a-random-scene.html
http://whispersofwindandsong.blogspot.com/2013/08/another-excerpt-from-tomorrows-bones.html

So yeah, if anyone is interested in beta-reading after that really boring summary, let me know. Then I can actually link you to the Google Docs where I do planning and character profiles, and you can see those to get more information before making a decision on if you want to beta-read or not. :)

God bless.

Theodora Ashcraft

Always

This... is a short story I wrote last night, after a discussion with my big sister Ophelia. When I wrote it, I had just read a poem Ophelia had written, so some of this story is inspired by her poems. I was just thinking about my past a whole lot while I wrote it, so it's intensely personal to me and I was rather afraid to post it. But I think it could serve as a good reminder - not just for other girls, but for guys as well. The same idea applies. I hope it is an encouragement to you.

God bless.

~~

The rain falls in the dusk, a whispering cascade of droplets cold against my face.

I huddle in the corner; against a boulder. Tears stream down my face, and I tremble.

I can hear Him approaching. My heart pounds in my head. I’m all too aware that He knows where I am; He always does. But I hold onto the vain hope that perhaps He doesn’t this time.

How can I face Him? My gown, once clean and white, is muddied and ragged now. How could I have done those things, thought those thoughts? I have fallen from His will… I have failed Him. The tears come faster now, as I hear His footsteps come nearer and nearer, finally stopping mere inches away.

I feel His hand on my shoulder, and I cringe away, thoughts whirling through my mind—the shame, the anguish, the dread of waiting for words of angry admonishment.

Instead, I hear His gentle voice say, “Come, little one. Come warm yourself.”

Too dazed to pull away, I let Him lead me to the fire flickering nearby. I lower my head, unable to meet His gaze. Now He can fully see the sorry state my once-white gown is in. I stand still, awaiting judgment.

To some surprise, instead of the punishment I expected… He gently places His hand beneath my chin and raises my face to look into my eyes. And I see then that His eyes are sad… but also brimming over with love.

I tremble as I try to choke back the tears. I want to look away. I don’t deserve the forgiveness I can sense in His eyes. I am confused. I see sorrow in his gaze, and yet… He still seems to care so deeply about me. I don’t deserve it, I don’t!

He says softly, His fingers wiping my tears away, “Oh, my dear child. I love you. You are my precious daughter.”

I pull away, mind wild with my own guilt. I stumble backwards, sobs trying to make their way from my throat. I cry out through the tears, “You wouldn’t say that if you knew who I really was! If you knew what I had done!”

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I realize how foolish the words are—of course He knows what I have done.

His voice is ever-gentle. “I already know what you have done. And I know who you truly are.”

Shaking, I cry, “Then how can you love me? Why don’t you cast me out like I deserve?”

“Little one…” He smiles sadly at me. “You have already been forgiven.”

I have no more energy to speak, and I begin to weep freely. He comes closer and puts His hands on my shoulders. Through my tears, I vaguely notice my gown become clean and white again. I feel His strong arms wrap around me, and I do not have the strength to pull away, though some part of me wishes to. A broken whisper of “How can you still love me after all I’ve done?” escapes me.

He says softly, “My dear child… I died for you. I knew everything you would do before you ever did it. I was beaten, mocked, and tortured; I died so that your stained garments could be made clean; so that your sins could be washed away.”

The sobs come now, and I feel more guilt weighing heavily on my heart. “I was the cause of Your pain… how can you still love me after what I did to you?” I whisper, still held close in His arms.

When He speaks, I can hear love mingled with sorrow in His voice. “Little one… I endured that pain because I love you. And I have already know all that you have done or will do. It has been forgiven—it has been paid for.

“I know that you stumble. I know the doubts you will feel and the mistakes you will make. You are still growing, my dear daughter. But no matter how you fall, no matter how you sin… My blood has made you new. I will always love you. And I will never let you go.”

Gray Threads

This is a random essencey sort of thing that I wrote last night. It's sort of addressed to an old friend of mine, but it's not a letter... I don't know how to explain it really, but I liked it, so I put it here. *smiles wryly*

Sidenote, but the name of the girl I mention is not really Lea. I'm using a different name for privacy.

~~

I truly do not know why I’m writing this to you. I won’t ever show it to you, and you’ll never see it anyway—or will you? You used to read these ramblings of mine… but that was two years ago.

I still haven’t let go. I’m still clutching that banner of gray you left behind… as time marched past, it began to fall apart, though. Soon it became mere shreds. During my fight to let you go, I even dropped some of the shreds on my own—of my own free will. I whispered goodbye as I watched them drift slowly down the river of memories.

Several threads still remain, held tight in my fist. I want to let them go. But for some reason, I just can’t. I can’t do it.

Lea says I’m so very strong for having let go of so many of the shreds. But she only knows the surface. If only she knew how hard it is for me to let go of the last few gray threads.

A Russian flag still hides somewhere within the pages of a notebook, along with pictures of you, for you always dreamed of going to Russia. I kept them there among the pages to remind me that even though I so often felt like no one cared… you did.

At least, that’s what you led me to believe. You had Lea believing it too. Was it truth? She thinks it was and still is, and perhaps she’s the one who has it all figured out. I myself may never know. The notebook is buried deep within the recesses of the bookshelf or perhaps the closet, where I hope to have forgotten it.

I have always been a dreamer, old friend. It only worsens as time goes on, an all-too-real condition that has me trapped within the dreamworld more and more often now.

Though it’s not trapped, not really. Being trapped is being somewhere you don’t want to be, unable to leave. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I don’t think I want to leave the dreamworld. I should. I could. But… I won’t.

I think, sometimes, that our friendship was a dream too. Perhaps that comes from the uncertainty of whether dreams are reality or reality is a dream, or maybe they’re all just imaginary in the end.

It doesn’t matter. Whether it was a dream or not, it hurt. Burning like fire and ice. You gave me hope, and then you took it away. Heaven only knows what that did and will do to me.

Sometimes, I understand the whys and the wherefores. I’m not as ignorant as most suspect; at least not all of the time.

You have your own life to live. And you were brave enough to make the choice to move forward, whatever the costs—for you or anyone else.

I blame myself for your leaving though. I had to have done something wrong. I hurt you so many times… perhaps you finally decided that enough was enough. I’m sorry, brother, for what it’s worth. I’m so, so sorry.

I hope you don’t feel the same. Blame is something you once knew all too well. I hope you don’t feel that way. Collect your courage, collect your horse, and ride into the sun. I pray you never feel this same kind of remorse.

Sometimes, I like to watch the model airplane’s shadow flicker on the wall and imagine that you miss Lea and I too; that even though you left, you still think of us. Perhaps it wasn’t abandonment like I once thought. After all, it’s only abandonment if the person doing the abandoning cares naught for the feelings of the others.

Maybe… maybe at night you stare at your ceiling too, and think of the ones you left. Maybe you still care.

And when I spend nights staring out the window at the dark velvet sky, wishing you could hear me when I whisper ‘I miss you’… or spend nights sobbing into my pillow, alternating between talking to you in rushed words from three thousand miles away, to crying out for someone—anyone—to help me… maybe you do hear me.

Maybe my words echo through your dreamworld, and you do hear them. But when you step back into reality, you wonder whether it was simply a dream; the words you hear in the dreamworld are no more tangible than the cluster of pixels and electronic words I was to you in the past. It would make sense.

Maybe you think of the promises you made. Do you feel remorse for breaking them, or do you wonder how I or Lea could have possibly fallen for it?

Perhaps you and Allison knew exactly what you were doing; perhaps her deceit and many attempts to break Lea and I down to shards weren’t as disconnected from you as I once believed…

Or perhaps my imagination is dashing wildly down the jungle trail again, and I’m being silly once more. I always was, you know that.

I think of the promises too, though; all the time. They’re made from the same gray threads I hold in a death grip, even now. All the times you said you cared. All the times you said you would never leave. All the times you said you would miss me if I cut the gossamer strand that kept me trapped here on this broken world… that you would miss me if I went to spin my way through the clouds and the stars and the wishes that fill the sky.

I want to believe your promises and words were true; that you weren’t deceiving me and Lea like everyone else. But when everything you ever said becomes a paradox, one has to wonder—what was the truth and what were lies?

You stole my trust. I never quite found it; instead, I second-guess myself and over-think what friends say, wondering—is this going to end the same way your friendship did? With broken promises and revealed untruths? Do any of them really care? Or is this simply all a game, or a matter of not wanting to seem discourteous?

One knows their trust is wavering uncertainly if they begin questioning the motives of those they love most.

You said you would miss me if I left and went Home. You kept me here; kept my gossamer lifeline secured tightly to the ground. You promised—there it is, more promises that came from your mind and onto the screen—that the pain would go away if I could just keep my gaze fixed on the flickering flame of hope.

You said you would miss me if I left, and so I stayed.

I said I would miss you if you left. And so… you left.

You didn’t go Home, and for that, I am so thankful. But you did leave. Oh, my brother, my dear, dear brother… I went left, and you went right, down a path that makes it so I cannot follow you.

I’ll never see you again. I’ve held onto the dream for over a year now, dreaming that I might see you again—that my first big brother might come running back from Russia to give me a hug and tell me he missed me, and that he had come back.

But that will not happen. Not in this lifetime.

I understand. You have your own life to live. I was and would be only a hindrance now. And that was always the last thing I wanted to be to you. I often said I would do anything for you if I could—I said that almost as often as I apologized for hurting you, as I did so many times.

I said I would do anything for you, and I meant it. And now, the most important thing I can do for you is to let go of the gray threads. To let you move on down the path to your future. And it hurts, it hurts so very much. But I made the promise. And I’ll keep it, no matter how violently it makes the dreamworld quake; no matter how many dream-flowers it shatters.

I’m keeping my promises, even though—and perhaps because—you never kept yours.

I know. I know. I’m being that foolish girl again, with her head in the clouds and stars in her eyes, but her feet firmly planted in the dust of the earth. Feet that are stuck there now because of you.

I could uproot myself, brother, and finally be Home. But I won’t.

I constantly make an utter mess of things. You saw that in me more than anyone. But I’m not going to give in this time. Not like this.

Because I made a promise to you. And no matter what happens to me, or to you, or to the rest of the world, I am not going to break my promise.

Some people would. Some people do. Some people will. Some people are, right at this minute.

I know firsthand that the shards from shattered promises hurt, and cut most deeply into the heart. The pieces of promises strewn over the world cause even the staunchest hearts to bleed.

I won’t cause anyone that pain. The reason I kept my promises last year was because I knew it would make your heart bleed.

And even if you’ve left… even if you no longer care whether I uproot myself… I have new brothers, and new sisters, who would be hurt if I break my promises.

So I won’t.

You broke yours.

But I’m not blaming you for it.

I haven’t forgiven you, but that’s because there was never anything to forgive.

I always did tell you, brother, that you could do or say anything you wanted, and I would never mind it; that I always forgave you because you were my brother, and that’s what siblings do. They forgive.

I held true to that. You can still do or say whatever you like. I won’t hold it against you.

Because I still love you, brother. I don’t know if I was ever really your little sister. But you were my first brother, and I’ll always remember.

You can forget.

But I’ll always remember.

And I’ll stand here through the rain and the snow and the sun, with my feet firmly planted on this cold, cold world. I made promises in the then, and I’ve made promises in the now.

I’m going to keep them.

And maybe someday, we’ll see each other again. Though not really again, since I never truly saw anything but your words and your dreams and your hopes.

You’re going to do wonderfully no matter where you go. Get lost in Russia, if that’s what you want to do. But don’t lose yourself, brother. Always know the path back home and keep it seared in your mind.

Keep your compass in hand and your heart in hope, and everything will be fine in the beginning that comes after the end.

You’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. Lea will be fine.

The fellowship has been broken, but we always knew it would be. And I know that everything sad will come untrue in the beginning; our King made that promise, you see. And He never breaks His word.

Never forget that. I certainly won’t.

So walk on into the light, old friend. Live your dream. I’ll meet you again in the Gray Havens, when the shadow passes and the dawn shines ever brighter. 

Reality

A random thing I wrote that's overloaded with way too many adjectives and confusing metaphors, I'm guessing. I don't really want critique on it at all, I just know one or two of my followers would like to see this particular writing, so I'm posting it.

The stars of frost fire gaze down from the sky. I’m lying among a sea of jewel-bright wildflowers, surrounded by the kitten-fluff of soft dandelions and the rosy pink-whites of clover flowers; all with four leaves. Shy, color-gleaming butterflies flutter to and fro, whispering in my ear—velvet wings tickling my face.

I remember…

But I don’t remember. There is nothing to remember. Nothing at all. None of this ever happened, none of it is happening, and perhaps none of it ever will happen.

Reality. The dreamworld. The edges blur together, like dusk, like the twilight hour; like pearl-pale moonlight filtering through the tresses of a waterfall’s rushing. What is reality? What is the dreamworld? Is reality real and is the dreamworld a dream, really and truly?

The song of the winged wolves echoes through the air, and I feel the beat of the distant thunder of unicorn hooves vibrating through my heart. The golden fur of a lion fades in and out of the shadows among the forest trees.

One difference. There is one difference that tells me where I am.

The dreamworld is safe and warm, a place where I can stay with those I love without fear of someone vanishing, where we will never be hurt. The dreamworld, made of hope and love and courage and joy, of laughter and smiles and warm embraces. The dreamworld, made of fairy-dust and flickering fireflies and a blazing light like a beacon.

The reality…

Everything the dreamworld isn’t. Darkness, darkness everywhere and nowhere. A crashing wave of overwhelming… overwhelming realness. Pain and sorrow and fear and loneliness. So much loneliness, always and forever stalking you. The loneliness with the haunting eyes, glowing with ghost-light. Thorn-sharp teeth, dragging you under the wave.

Is it any wonder? Can you blame me for the terror I feel when I think of stepping out of the dreamworld to face the reality of all things that should not be and yet are?

In the once upon a time, I left the dreamworld. I braved the waves, the hurricanes made from pain rushing through my veins. I tried to fight and failed. The waves claimed me, and I became one with them, a child lost to the sea, becoming a mystery. But then something, someone, saved me. And yet, it feels as though they left me, and are gone now.

I retreated again to the dreamworld, the place of magic and safety. Here I am and here I will stay, no matter how many tomorrows turn into yesterdays.

Soft wisps of wishes, caught high in the midnight breeze, drift from the dandelions and soar away. Free… freedom… peace…

I watch the wishes float away, following the spiraling wind-road to wherever it may lead, on and on and on.

Now I hear someone calling me from far away, a familiar voice in my head. I shiver as the fireflies dance above me.

The voice—it is the voice of the one who saved me from reality the first time. It is calling me away. It wants me to come away from this dreamworld, away from my Gray Havens. It’s telling me to be brave and leave, come back to reality.

The teardrops chase one another, trailing down my face. Please, no. Don’t make me leave, not here. How could you do this to me, after saving me from the very place you want me to stumble through again now? Don’t make me go back to reality. I want to stay here, where it’s safe and warm; where the loneliness can’t claw me and the waves can’t claim me. Please don’t make me go. I won’t come, I won’t! Never!

But the voice keeps calling me, saying it won’t let the waves and ghosts hurt me. It says I have a journey to complete, and that the path to take for that journey leads away from the dreamworld, but the end will be the end of endings; there will be a beginning.

Is there a There and Back Again?

If I don’t take a chance, and step out onto the road to tread the dawn, I may never know. 

Another Excerpt From "Tomorrow's Bones"

Here is another excerpt from Tomorrow's Bones for ya'll. I hope you enjoy! :) And some of it won't make sense, perhaps, but that's because it's an excerpt from chapter three or so. XD

Roman sat on a sofa, drumming his fingers on the small table next to it. He knew he shouldn’t be impatient, but nearly everyone who had responded to tell him they were coming had arrived at his apartment already.

Sireus Teono and Jaycin Spinner sat at the table talking in low voices, while Seana Sunfire stood in the corner of the room. He hadn’t planned on contacting her; in fact, he didn’t even know her. She was a friend of the navigator fellow who used to work on board Calderano’s Hope … Anden Ramoor was his name. When Seana heard about the plans, despite Roman’s hesitant protests, she had insisted on coming.

Clearly she had arrived before Mr. Ramoor himself. It was a quarter to 8pm—the man was already forty-five minutes late. Roman found himself tempted to just start the meeting; after all, Ramoor was the only one missing.

Just as he opened his mouth to address the other three, there was a knocking at the door. Sireus and Jaycin both jerked their heads in the direction the sound had come from.

Roman couldn’t keep back a satisfied grin. He started to call that the door was unlocked and that Ramoor could just come in—then he decided that wasn’t very professional and stood up to go open the door.

He swung it open. A tall man stood there, an amiable smile on his face.

“Hello there,” Roman said. “You’re Anden Ramoor?”

“Yes, that’s me. I’m sorry I’m late,” Anden replied.

“That’s okay.” Roman stepped back into his apartment. “Come on in; you can hang your coat on the coatrack or on one of the hooks over there.”

Roman turned and went back to the couch to pick up the newspapers and other information he had acquired on Lenard Calderano’s mysterious disappearance. He heard Anden murmur something inaudibly, and then footsteps coming further into the apartment.

Suddenly, Seana spoke up for the first time since she had arrived, her accented voice soft but surprised. “Anden! Who—?”

Roman spun on his heel, wondering just who the navigator had brought in now. First he had told Seana about the plans, and now she acted as if Anden had brought someone…

All of Roman’s thoughts shut down in confusion when he saw that the newcomer with Anden wasn’t even an adult.

Anden still stood closer to the door than he did to anyone else in the room. A girl who looked to be in her middle teens hid partially behind him, peeking around his side at the other people present.

“Who is that?” Jaycin asked curiously.

Anden glanced over his shoulder at the girl, who was holding tightly to his arm and showed no signs of letting go until she calmed. “This is Skye.”

Roman blinked several times, struggling to remember where he had heard that name before. Then it clicked. “Skye Calderano?”

“Yes,” Anden said, smiling a little. “I was surprised to find her on the way over here; I’ve not seen her in… oh, ages; probably a good five years by now.”

“And… you know her?” Roman asked, fighting to keep from asking thousands of questions all at once.

“That’s something I didn’t tell you about myself yet. Yes, I worked as navigator on Lenard’s ship. But the reason for that was because I’ve… I had been friends with Lenard since we were both teenagers. When he got married, I ended up living down the street from him and his wife. I watched Skye grow up.” Smiling again, this time a little sadly, he added, “I helped take care of her after… after her mother died.”

The room fell silent for several strained moments. Finally, Roman said, “Well… that explains a lot. But how is she here and why?”

Anden took a step to the side, forcing Skye to stand in view of the others. She jumped a little, clearly surprised at her protection having moved away, and attempted to edge behind Anden again.

“Ah-ah, no,” Anden said quietly. “Come on, tell them what you told me.”

The girl drew in a deep breath and then spoke to Roman in a quiet voice. “I found out that you were going to try and figured out what happened to my dad. I want to help.”

Roman stared in shock for a second, and then protested, “Look, that’s understandable since he was your dad and all, but you’re just a kid. You can’t—”

“I want to help,” Skye repeated, her voice a little louder but no stronger. It shook a little as she added, “Please. I want to know what happened to him. Who… who killed him.”

Anden put a reassuring arm around her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her, and both of them looked to Roman, awaiting an answer.

Roman worked to keep his mouth from falling open in complete shock. He stared at the two of them for a long minute, his mind racing.

They were obviously very close, and yet both of them were so different. Skye’s small build, long, straw-gold hair and wide eyes were a stark contrast to Anden’s tall form and dark hair.

Roman knew it was a bad idea to let the girl come. She would no doubt be very emotional, and most likely unable to handle the journey.

However, looking into both Anden’s face and Skye’s, Roman could see that neither of them would take no for an answer. Skye would plead, Anden would reason, and Roman would end up giving in anyway.

Biting back a sigh, Roman said reluctantly, “Fine.” He turned what he hoped was a stern gaze on Anden. “But you’re going to have to look after her. I’m not going to slow down or stop if she can’t keep up.”

A spark of what seemed like protectiveness shone in Anden’s eyes, and Roman almost expected the older man to give him some sort of warning about treating Skye kindly. Instead, Anden said nothing and simply nodded.