Ain's return elicited an almost girlish squeal of delighted surprise from the elf-witch; apparently she was so distracted by her own glum thoughts that she didn't realize he was coming until his wings were flapping at the air around her head. She chided him for everything and nothing, but her fingers ruffled through the feathers around his neck, and he nipped at the web of her thumb and they were both content with each other's presence. The gloom of the rain was forgotten, and the arguments she had begun to formulate about pressing forward to what was likely to be a slaggy heap of mud and straw now withered, neglected, in the back of her mind. The children had been gone for weeks now; surely they would keep for another night. She even found herself volunteering for whatever trick it was that Turilia knew. She was used to spending time with no company but Ain, and he had keen senses, even for a raven. They were the obvious choice. Besides, she did not add as she glanced at Xarithe while his eyes seemed to find Ambrosia for the umpteenth time, she was better alone. With Ain.