Work Text:
By the morning after Snoggletog, Heather felt… surprisingly good, considering she hadn’t slept all that much. There had been no nightmares, which was a pleasant occurrence even as it was becoming more common, and her father had not woken during the night. Eirik had been safely asleep when she had reached home and checked on him, and still asleep when she rose before dawn.
Heather grimaced as she caught herself thinking of her father as Eirik again, as she was preparing breakfast and setting the pot to the fire before she planned to start on food for the dragons. It had started when she was talking to the other healers, in the first few days before he had awoken, and she knew even without looking too closely it was because he had looked nothing like the father she knew and everything had still felt so unreal. It did not happen on the good days, when he sounded almost like himself – when she could pretend his voice was rough from a late night singing, and his tiredness from the same – but she had caught herself more and more often using his name, in her own head. At least she had firm enough control over herself not to use it aloud.
Making sure the cauldron was steady, she let herself into the back bedroom that she had made her father’s – not just the lack of stairs, but the fact that she could nail a sign on the rear door saying “Outhouse this way” and one to the interior door saying “Front room this way”, had helped immensely – and adjusted the hood over the lamp in there enough that she could see better.
Her father shifted, raising his head. “Heather?”
Another good day, then. Heather’s throat felt tight for a moment, as she realised she hadn’t expected the boon of two good days in a row. “Sorry, Dad. Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“’m good,” he replied, which was neither an agreement nor a denial. “You…?”
Luckily the trailing off sounded more like a question than losing track of words. “Yeah,” said Heather softly.
She entered the room properly, got out a new set of clothes from her father’s clothes-chest, and set them on the chair beside his bed before scooping up the pile of ones he had worn the previous day. Although she had to do up cloaks for him, and had needed to alter one of his belts so that it was a style more easily managed with one hand, he still had a fairly good thumb-to-forefinger hold on his right side and that was usually enough for clothes.
“Breakfast is heating up, I’ll set it to keep warm when it’s done. Are you all right if I go out for a walk?”
“Yes. I might sleep some more.”
“Sounds good,” said Heather.
She knew that Elsa would be neither surprised nor hurt if she did not make it to the meeting place they had agreed. Heather had blurted out the words, after all, after Hiccup had interrupted them just the evening before. Elsa’s hands had slipped out of Heather’s in an instant, although Heather suspected it was more from surprise as anything else as Hiccup all but bumbled upon them, and whatever fragile words might have hung unspoken in the air them were thoroughly gone by the time that he managed to get himself and Toothless inside again.
It had been an endearing and entertaining interruption, to be sure. Heather was just itching to talk to Astrid to see what would be said about what had happened. But it had been an interruption all the same, and Heather had quickly offered to meet Elsa in the morning, if she could make it, instead.
But even if Elsa would not mind, it still made Heather feel guilty, to suggest meetings and then cancel them, run late, even turn Elsa away from her door at times. Elsa always gave her a smile and seemed to understand, never showing any frustration, and gods it made Heather feel like shit. The worst had been the time she had turned Elsa from her door with a half-mumbled explanation, and Elsa had assured her that it was fine before leaving, and Heather had not even managed to explain that her father was fine and it was just her, exhausted and feeling close to tears for no reason, who was stopping it all.
She missed the seas, though she wasn’t sure how much of it was just missing the days before all of this. Perhaps flying, even if it was in brief snatches, would help her know for sure.
Her smile for her father never flickered, and he gave her a tired smile back from his position propped in pillows – a little upright, the healers had said at the beginning, would help his throat and chest. Heather added his laundry to the basket – getting to be enough that it needed to be washed; she could not put that off any longer – and lowered the hood of the lantern again before exiting, leaving the door ajar behind her.
The barrels of fish that had been brought for the dragons sat for now in the snowbank on the lee side of the house, and occasionally several fish would come out stuck together. Hnoss and Gersemi never minded, though, and Heather had persuaded herself easily enough that it was reasonable to borrow a shovel from the academy if it was in order to clear out the dragons’ dung into a pit she had talked Snotlout into helping her prepare.
She washed up, cleaned up, and changed back into the same set of good clothes she had been wearing the previous day, all before the sun had even properly risen. Elsa had appeared often enough in clothes that had patched elbows or hems clearly taken up, but again Heather felt the sting of most of her clothes having been lost to the Outcasts or Berserkers – Hel knew which – and of stabbing her fingers trying to mend what she had left. The Snoggletog clothes that Elsa had given her were still not like the good clothes she and her father had once worn to perform, but they were warm and fitted well and meant far more than that still.
At least the extra hours had given her a chance to think, and to settle upon a suitable Snoggletog gift for Elsa in return. Heather smiled as she settled her belt into place, her father’s horn on one hip, knife on the other, pouch with Elsa’s present easily at hand. She combed and rebraided her hair, and remembered a cloak and gloves this time as she readied herself to leave.
There were pinpricks of snow in the air, but nothing too major, and the fresh fall the previous night had put a clean white sheet over the village. There were only a few tracks, signs of people here and there, and the sun streamed almost horizontally between houses and trees. That, at least, suited Heather’s plans.
A shadow flickered past, and she looked up in time to see Toothless and Hiccup – or at least, the underside of Hiccup’s feet – heading fast towards the sea. Heather smiled. New Year or not, it was clear that some things were part of Berk for good.
There were no footsteps out to the woods and the clearing where she had promised to meet Elsa – one with a tree only recently fallen, firm enough to sit on rather than rotting away. She knew Elsa well enough, though, to not be surprised when she stepped into the clearing and found Elsa there all the same, sitting on the fallen tree and working some glittering magic in her hands.
For just a moment, as Elsa sat engrossed with the magic, Heather let her eyes trail over her. She had spread her cloak on the trunk, and sat in a soft green dress with her hair loose over her shoulders. A tendril came down along the neckline of the dress, just beneath her collarbone and bright against the fabric. There were shadows beneath her eyes, but a distant smile on her lips as – Heather looked more closely at the glittering magic – the ice coalesced and spread into a model of a Nadder about eight inches tall and with wings outspread. A stray shaft of light between the trees sparked like light inside it.
Heather cleared her throat, and Elsa looked up sharply, smile almost fading before returning in full force. Elsa slipped to her feet as Heather took a step forwards, then glanced down to confirm her own footprints were the only ones in the snow.
“Good luck to anyone trying to follow you,” Heather teased, as she approached again.
“I think Hiccup would send a dragon instead,” Elsa replied. “Although I do not run so often these days.”
There was something slightly… fragile about the words, enough that Heather felt it was more an intimation than many things they had said to each other before. And Heather had said plenty, more than she had intended to at times, even if she did not regret the words now. But the way that Elsa said it, her eyes like they were searching for something in Heather, it was clear that she at least did not mean the words just as idle jest.
“I’m glad,” Heather settled for, not least because it was true. Relief seemed to wash the tension from Elsa’s frame.
Heather scooped her hand into Elsa’s, glove into bare skin, as she sat down on the cloak which had clearly been spread wide enough for two. Whether it was the cloak or whether Elsa had cleared some of the snow, she did not know, but it did well enough for a seat. Cheeks turning pink, Elsa sat down as well, hand still in Heather’s and body turned towards her as she tucked up her legs.
“I’m glad you were able to come,” said Elsa. “Your father, he is well?”
“Yeah, he’s good. Getting some more sleep, I think. He enjoyed last night, but I think it took it out of him.”
But he had been clear-headed. Coherent, his mumbling seeming to be only that of sleep. All too often, after a good day, he would be addled and irritable the next.
“Then you will have to wait for his thoughts on your poem,” said Elsa.
Heather could faintly feel the brush of her thumb outside the glove, and wished for a moment it was warmer weather. But she knew that the spring was going to bring all new things to wrestle with. “I guess so. Although it’s more the performance that was new to him.”
A giggle broke from Elsa’s lips. “I should ask Hiccup what he thinks of it now he has had time to sleep.”
“He looked a little startled last night,” Heather admitted. She had been more interested in talking about Elsa last night; they had been speaking about some song that Elsa half-remembered from the Wildlands, wondering whether they might translate and rearrange it together, in a giddy sort of fantasy spoken aloud. It had not felt quite real. Certainly Heather had not been intending for the conversation to turn to Hiccup, and his sudden arrival had been quite the sharp turn. “Seemed well enough in control of you all by the time that I returned, though.”
“A return for which Ruffnut may not have forgive you.”
The pink in her cheeks set off the blue in her eyes. “Really?” said Heather. She slipped slightly closer, so that their knees all but touched. “You think Ruffnut wanted me to sit in her lap instead?”
A laugh burst out, shared between them. “Probably,” said Elsa. “But I think you rather spoiled some fun of hers as well.”
“Oh, I’m sure she found other fun to replace it with.” Ruffnut had that quality, Heather had quickly seen; she bounced back, lived life to the full. She didn’t really seem the sort to hold a grudge; indeed, to hold on to anything negative. That was something easier to see than Hiccup’s worrying, in Anna’s bitter glances, even in Snotlout’s withdrawing into himself the previous evening.
At least Snotlout had been easily dealt with. A sweet suggestion that he should compete in the arm wrestling that was going on, a bet on him winning that mercifully came through, and Heather had seen him looking brighter than he had for much of the time since Outcast Island. The cheering from the other Berkians had probably helped, of course, as well as the chance to roundly mock his opponent as was traditional after such bouts. But Heather suspected that the winning of something had been the most important thing.
“Not regretting your interruption, then?” Elsa’s lips twitched.
Heather realised that she had been staring at them, and didn’t feel all that guilty. She had spent far longer staring at them the previous night, after all, most of the way to Elsa’s house. “Hmm… not really.” It was hardly a punishment to look into Elsa’s eyes instead, the blue warm with… with something that Heather was nervous to put a name to.
Affection, that would do. Enough affection that Heather could almost feel it on her skin, enough to make her feel just a little disorientated. More disorientated than her own sense that the world was the right way up when she looked at Elsa, that Elsa being near made her feel like a real person again instead of some tattered remnant snagging on hidden thorns. That wasn’t different, that was some scrap of normality.
What she saw in Elsa’s eyes, the way that Elsa looked at her… that was what she was not sure how to quantify.
“What about you?” said Heather, with a squeeze of Elsa’s hand. “Any regrets from Berk’s annual night of debauchery?”
That drew another laugh, less restrained than Elsa’s usual careful sounds. Truth be told, Berk was hardly the worst that Heather had seen, let alone heard of – there had been islands where she’d had a curfew, after all. But for all its usual seriousness, Berk had seemed to let its collective hair down on Snoggletog night, and the optimism in the air had turned to true excitement as the evening wore on. Mismatched musical rhythms and small dancing circles that barely tried not to bump into each other had made for waves of sound and laughter even in the large space of their Great Hall.
But then Elsa fell still, lips slightly parted in her smile as she leaned barely perceptibly towards Heather. “Just one,” she said, quietly.
Heather’s mouth felt dry, an abrupt flutter of nerves running through her again. The normality, the stability, everything that Elsa had brought to her; it had seemed so easy to gamble it the previous night, Elsa’s hands in hers and the snow like stars around them. But it was harder by the light of day to feel the tugging promise of a kiss offered and be quite sure what to do. “Just the one?” she echoed.
Elsa reached over and took her other hand, without even looking down, and Heather felt an ache in her chest that had nothing to do with tiredness or with cold. Part of her still wondered if Elsa was the hero of songs that had yet to be written, the way that she was quite sure Hiccup was; something Heather had never expected to see, let alone to touch, let alone to kiss.
When Heather barely felt she could hold herself together as a human, what could she offer Elsa?
But the intent in Elsa’s eyes was unmistakable, the same deepening warmth that Heather had seen the previous night, and Heather could feel herself leaning in as well even as her heart raced.
“Just one,” Elsa repeated. “Getting interrupted.”
In order to win, one had to cast the dice. Heather closed the final inches between them to bring her lips to Elsa’s. She only meant for it to be a brush, but it was like some sort of magnetism; a fearful thrill ran through her at the contact, and she found herself lingering. Elsa’s lips shifted against hers, cool and soft, hands tightening in Heather’s. Fighting against the urge to fall into breathlessness, Heather kissed her again, firmer. There was a soft sound on Elsa’s lips, a faint murmur as she pressed back.
It was not the sweet dim evening that had so lulled Heather the night before, that had felt so perfect as to be unreal. The cold was more biting, the weights and pressures of the world more real, but the kisses that Elsa pressed to her lips were as certain as they were unpolished.
The kisses blurred together, Elsa’s breath soft as her lips grew warm. She released one of Heather’s hands to take hold of her shoulder, and all that Heather could think of was to touch her, to feel the silken sweep of her skin, the delicate warmth not quite so hot as that of most but there, there all the same. She cupped Elsa’s cheek, and Elsa gasped but made her next kiss intent, lips parting.
It was artless and gods, Elsa had never said in so many words that she had never kissed before, had simply joked about some debacle with Hiccup and left the sketch of her history vague. And it was clear that she meant each kiss, each touch, deliberate and wanted; it was simply clear, as well, that she had not kissed before.
Heather drew back, just far enough to see Elsa’s flushed pink lips, the outright desire in her eyes. Her chest felt so tight that it was like a pain against her sternum, but as she brushed her thumb across Elsa’s cheek she wondered if maybe, just maybe, it could work. Something could work.
“I should give you your Snoggletog present,” said Heather, more a breath than real words, and ran her tongue uncertainly over her lips as she pulled away. She needed both hands to open the pouch at her belt, hoping that she would not make a fool of herself, that her hands would not shake, that Elsa would not think she had lost her mind.
But Elsa did not interrupt, simply watched curiously as Heather produced a small bundle of fabric and unwrapped it to reveal the shape inside. The glass was smooth and cold in her hand, edges sharp enough that she probably could have cut herself if she pressed hard enough against them, triangular ends connected by straight sides. Elsa’s eyes followed as Heather held it up between them.
“What is it?”
“It’s a prism,” said Heather, careful on the odd southern word. “I don’t know where it was made, but it made its way north. And now it’s yours.”
She placed it carefully in Elsa’s hand, flat side down, and Elsa cocked her head curiously as she turned it back and forth. “Is it glass?”
“As far as I know.” Unless they had some strange thing down south that looked like glass but wasn’t.
“It is pretty.”
Heather allowed herself a moment of watching Elsa’s expression, her focus and the way that her lips were still flushed and slightly shining, before looking around the clearing to spot an appropriately sharp shaft of light.
She hopped down. “Come on, there’s a little something it does.” She extended a hand to Elsa, the same way she had done the night before – impulsively and not at the same time, an offer to dance she had been hoping to make that evening but which had still been a split-second decision as she saw the sadness in Elsa’s eyes. Still with the prism in her right hand, Elsa accepted, slipping her hand into Heather’s and sliding somewhat more gently down off the trunk after her.
Her feet landed on the snow, not sinking into it. Heather glanced down, chuckled, but when she looked up saw uncertainty in Elsa’s eyes. She leaned in and pressed a kiss to Elsa’s cheek, caught off-guard again by the way it sent a thrill to her chest, and swallowed before being able to speak softly into Elsa’s ear.
“I think it’s amazing,” she said. “All of it.”
Because gods, it was, how could anyone think it was otherwise? It hadn’t taken Elsa long to open up to the idea of doing magic in front of Heather, of even talking about things she was working on and practicing them, again and again, while Heather watched in delight and awe and encouraged her on. Either in Heather’s house, or walking; Eirik – no, her father – had been more uncertain at first, exclaiming the first time that he shuffled into the room to see Elsa working her magic. It had unsettled Elsa so much that she would not hear Heather’s promise that she had spoken to her father, had needed Eirik’s own reassurance that he now understood before she had tentatively formed ice rings and small baubles in her hands again.
But even now, it wasn’t hard to see that Elsa did her magic less often, and less confidently, in front of others. It was clear that Hiccup had no issue with it, nor Astrid, nor Anna or Stoick or Gobber or the other riders or anyone with whom Elsa spent a lot of time. Yet all the same, even as Heather had overflowed with praise for the beautiful look of her ice on her dress, like she was wrapped up in the starry sky, Elsa had fretted over whether to even show the others, let alone to shine in it at the Snoggletog gathering. Watching the uncertainty in her eyes grow to determination had set a warmth in Heather’s chest, and she had hugged Elsa tightly when Elsa finally came to her decision.
As Heather drew back, she could see the pink redoubling on Elsa’s cheeks, until she looked like she was feeling the effects of the cold after all. The snow grew deeper towards the part of the clearing where Heather had seen the shaft of light, until Heather stumbled on some hidden dip and Elsa had to catch her before she went face-first into the snow. They both burst out laughing as Heather straightened herself up and more carefully picked the last steps over to the light.
“All right,” said Heather. “So, when I saw this done it was using a lamp with a small hole cut in the hood, but this,” she put her hand in the shaft of light; it formed a narrow slit on her hand, barely a quarter of an inch wide, “should do as well. So, you take the prism.”
Elsa raised it to just beneath the level of the light, and allowed Heather to stand it upright and to guide her hand a little higher so that the light hit the side of the glass.
Heather raised her hand directly behind the prism, and Elsa looked at it, then to the glass, and back again. “The light is gone,” she said.
“Not gone,” said Heather. She moved her hand round until she caught the shaft of light again, a few inches away from the prism. “Turned. The light is… turned, or bent, or something, by the glass. I don’t know why, I don’t know if anyone does. I asked, believe me,” she added, and Elsa chuckled. Yes, it probably was not surprising at all that Heather had asked a dozen questions that the trader with the prism did not have answers to. Luckily, her parents had amber and were willing to get it for her, although they made it clear that she would need to save up the money to pay them back.
It was worth it, now, just to watch the confusion and thought on Elsa’s face as she peered into the top of the prism like she was looking for the secret.
“And,” Heather continued, moving her hand a bit further back and angling it to spread out the light. She was honestly not sure it was going to work until it did, the colours spreading on her hand, and she couldn’t help smiling more widely. “It finds the rainbow in the light.”
Elsa looked round at Heather’s hand again, then her eyes went wide and she opened her mouth as if to speak, but without saying a thing. Another glance back at the prism, still in her hand where Heather’s fingertips guided it, then to the little rainbow on Heather’s palm. She touched it with her free hand, as if checking Heather had not somehow painted it on her palm, then gave an uncertain but delighted laugh.
“It is…” Elsa shook her head. “I have never seen something like this.” The smile faded as she looked back at Heather. “I cannot accept this.”
The earnestness in her voice made it clear there was no ulterior motive to the words, and honestly Heather had not thought of that possible reply. If anything, she had worried briefly whether Elsa might consider it too frivolous, considering how practical her own gifts had tended, even by Viking standards. Her talk of the Wildlands, indicating it was a harder life even than Berk’s, meant that was not too much of a surprise.
But this, well, this was not something Heather had at all expected.
As Elsa lowered the prism out of the light, Heather quickly caught the dropping hand in both of hers. “Please,” Heather said, the first thing that she could even think to say. “I got this because… it fascinated me. That something that looked so unassuming could make plain sunlight into rainbows. And…”
And as beautiful as Elsa was, there was something unassuming about her, something quiet and careful that never gave a hint as to the extraordinary power that she could unleash.
“I know that you don’t follow Berk’s gods,” Heather added, and did not miss the minute flinch Elsa gave. But she pressed on. “Nor Arendelle’s. It seems that every island has some tale about rainbows, that they tie to their gods, but every island I have ever seen, no matter their gods, no matter if they have no gods at all… they all have rainbows. Whenever the sun meets the rain, a rainbow happens, no matter what the people may think of the gods, and…”
By all rights, Elsa should have been looking at her like she was crazy. Heather felt it, blurting out about rainbows that did not need gods and glass that fascinated her with its power. But she felt Elsa curl her fingers around the prism and saw something like understanding in her eyes, surprising as that was when Heather was not sure that she understood herself.
“And I just wanted to give it to you,” Heather added. “This Snoggletog. The same as I wanted to dance with you.”
Elsa could move gracefully, certainly, but she had not been lying when she had said that she did not know the dances that the Berkians did. They were more raucous, designed to be easy to repeat even as people got more drunk, but the bright side of that was that they were easy to learn when sober as well. And Elsa was certainly a fast learner, even if she had struggled to summon the sheer carelessness that the Berkians did.
“The same as I wanted to meet you here again, this morning,” she finished, more softly.
Slowly, Elsa raised the prism back up, until the shaft of sunlight glimmered across both of their hands, then pressed a gentle kiss to Heather’s gloved fingertips. Heather could not even feel it through the leather, but all the same could sense it in her chest.
“Then I will say yes,” said Elsa.
The previous night, her hair had been up in some braided bun the likes of which Heather had never seen in northern, Viking islands. The sort that had to be done by someone else, which all but required a southern servant. With her hair loose, she looked softer, less exposed to the world and less tightly wound. Even with a sleepless night written beneath her eyes, she seemed… content.
Heather smiled. “Is this where I get to pick up after my own interruption?” she said, and from Elsa’s immediate giggle it was clear that there was no ambiguity at all to her words. She reached up to brush back one side of Elsa’s hair, seeing it move like silver silk and wishing again that it was warm enough that she dared to remove her gloves.
In an instant, the easy answer came to her: inside, it was still warm enough for bare hands. But Elsa was breathtaking as she stood among the trees and the fresh snow, and the few extra inches that the snow itself gave her put them on more of an eye level. And, of course, there was the freedom that Elsa seemed to find when they were alone.
Elsa reached in to kiss her, and the touch sent that trembling thrill down Heather’s spine again and gods, she did not have it in her to think too hard about that. It was still a little clumsy, but certain, and softer than before. When Heather nipped gently at her lower lip, Elsa gave a soft giggle and pressed one more kiss into place before drawing back.
Looking down, Elsa went to put the prism to her belt, then stopped with a sigh. Heather glanced down as well to see that Elsa only had her own knife with her – the second Gronckle iron one, Hiccup had said, twin to his own. She quickly untied the bag in which she had brought the prism.
“Here, borrow this. Although you could probably keep it, to be honest,” she added, wryly. “I have more than enough of them.”
“I will bring it back,” said Elsa, words a firm promise but smile a sweet one, and Heather wondered how much time she could get away with losing here. Elsa smoothed down her dress. “Hiccup has gone to the academy, for a time, and Anna is… still asleep.”
Hardly surprising, considering Heather had last seen Anna competing with Tuffnut to most quickly down a horn of mead before returning to their dancing, but Heather at least had the grace not to mention that.
“Then the day is yours?” said Heather, and Elsa’s smile was answer enough. But… no. She could not wile away days on nothing any more. Her expression must have faltered, as Elsa began to look concerned. “I… sorry. I have things I need to do, today.”
“I can help, if you would like.”
The comfort of seeing Elsa cook was one thing. Elsa had even helped from time to time as Heather cooked for her father, cutting up vegetables or minding the fire while all three of them talked. Staying to eat with them was rarer. But those were warm memories, good moments, because it was good to know that her father was back in the house and eating and capable of passing commentary on what Heather cooked. It was different scrubbing clothes and bedsheets, cleaning floors that saw more spills than they used to, finding something for her father just to do.
Some days, he could just about manage to read. Others, he could not. The worst were when he was just aware enough to know what it was that he could no longer do.
“I’m afraid more hands won’t make it quicker,” said Heather, a lie that tripped too easily off her tongue. Her parents had always been good at spotting when she lied; others, not so much. She almost wished that Elsa was good at it as well. “Just bits and pieces.”
“You are sure?” Elsa did not look wholly convinced, even as Heather nodded.
Call me out on my lie, Heather thought suddenly, desperately. Elsa made her feel real again, like her words had to match reality in some way. All it would take was a lie caught here or there, and Heather might be able to persuade herself to speak in truths all of the time once again. The unpleasant, messy, dark truths that lurked inside her mind.
Lies were just so much easier on other people’s ears.
But Heather nodded.
Elsa gave her hand a squeeze, and by Heather’s guess was trying hard to give a supportive smile. It looked understandably strained. “Very well. But I will see you again soon, yes?”
“As soon as I’m able,” said Heather. “You can always see if I’m free, even if…”
Even if sometimes she had no way to be, chains of reality on her. This time it was Elsa who nodded, then paused, and with a smile leaned to press a kiss to the corner of Heather’s mouth. She could almost feel it there, like a tangible point of warmth on her skin, as Elsa tied the pouch to her belt and turned as if to go.
“Your cloak!” said Heather, and Elsa looked round and laughed at the fabric still spread there, an almost wooden shade of brown against the wide snow.
Elsa walked back across the snow to retrieve it, and still, gods, still she left no footsteps. Even in quite normal, Viking clothes she was something out of a legend not yet written. Like so much of Berk seemed to be. Some days when Heather awoke, she felt a dark wave at the re-remembering of her father’s condition, but on other days she had to pause just to believe that what she had seen on Berk – dragons and magic and a little island holding off a burgeoning empire – could possibly be real.
“Thank you,” said Elsa, “for reminding me of it.”
“And you,” Heather murmured as Elsa left, sure that it was too quiet for her to hear. “For reminding me of being human.”