Is Love

Oberyn's breath stilled. 

For a moment - just a moment - he didn't move. His chest felt tight, an ache blooming behind his ribs. He should have been happy. He should have said something, anything. 

But the words were lodged in his throat. Instead, he looked away, pulling his hand back as if he needed distance.

"Ezra…" he started, voice faltering. "I don't know if I - "

As he spoke, he was interrupted by the rushing wind of Rav's clouds. The Ferin pounced to the ground, holding two bags up with a stupid grin on his face.

"Dinner time, my boys!" he squealed. "Eat up, yum yum, hm!?"

He pranced to the table and began taking things out of the bag. For a medieval world, they had a lot of advanced technology, Ezra noted. Take-out containers?

Ezra peered over everything Rav took out of the bag. 'So much for Ferin food,' he thought. 'This looks like Italian.'