*Saoirse*
The morning light crept through the sheer curtains, casting warm stripes across the worn table where we gathered as a family. Rhys, with his tousled hair still hinting at sleep, carried in a tray of freshly baked bread and a pot of honey, the sweet aroma mingling with the crisp air of dawn.
"Good morning," I greeted our two children, who were already seated, their small hands fidgeting with anticipation for the meal ahead. They chirped a chorus of "Mama" and "Papa" that filled the room with a melody more delightful than any songbird’s call.
"Tell us a dream," Rhys urged them, his voice a gentle rumble still heavy with sleep but also joy. He settled down beside me, pushing my hair off my face and running his thumb across my lower lip before returning his attention to our children.
Our daughter, her eyes alight with the remnants of slumbering adventures, spoke first. "I flew last night, high over the mountains! And the stars whispered secrets just for me!"
