Joanna looks around her, eyes full of wonder at the raw faerie spirit that so many people conglomerated together had revealed. She hadn’t known Shaman was so populated, nor that there were such a variety of people. Faeries with blue hair. Faeries who were short, tall, medium, strong, weak. Faeries who looked like princesses, or like trolls. Her mouth unwillingly pulls itself into a smile. A threatening-looking man with red skin. A child with a crippled arm. Faeries who are enjoying their surroundings, glorying in being inside the castle, faeries who only want to sleep, who are at the end of their tethers. The place teams with them all, some skulking unwillingly, others trying to help.

A familiar hand gently settles on her shoulder.

She turns swiftly, her eyes darting to the hazel ones of the man standing behind her.

Jensen.

She throws her strong, lightly freckled arms around him on impulse and then withdraws swiftly, taking a step back to look him up and down. He didn’t look like he’d got caught in the mud, his thin face tired but still strong, his brown hair only a little ruffled. She leans forward and takes his hand softly, wanting to touch him again to make sure he’s really there. Her large eyes blink slowly, serious.

You survived.

She can’t help but allow a smile to blossom onto her features. She can’t fake a smile, but this doesn’t require effort, she’s that happy he’s alive, and here, with her.

There’s so many people.

She glances around them, her features settling back into a vague awe at life and their ordinary pattern. She shivers slightly, her shoulders rounding as she coughs, and then her eyes dart back to him.