"Oh, Ilane, she's so precious. Do tell, what's her name?"

"Thank you, Cheyenne. Her name is Keladry."

While the close friends conversed, a small blonde boy tottered over to the bassinet, peering suspiciously over the edge on his tiptoes with wide blue eyes. Sleeping soundly, bundled in cotton blankets, was a baby, hardly several days old. He wrinkled his nose as her lips made an impertinent smacking sound. Cautiously reaching down, he poked the chubby cheek with one small plump finger. The baby's eyes fluttered open, and she peered up at the blond boy groggily. With surprising swiftness she swiped at his fingers, grabbing his thumb in a startlingly powerful grip. He was too astonished to cry out, and only stared down at the round face gazing up at him so trustingly.

"Her name is Keladry, Joren dear," Ilane called to the blond. In a softer voice she muttered to her best friend, "He's so precious, Cheyenne. You must be proud."

"Oh I am," the brunette assured her.

"Kewadree," the child tested, rolling the words around in his mouth thoughtfully. He jumped when the baby – Keladry – let out a cheerful coo, determinedly drawing attention to her dimpled self.

"Not Kewadree, Joren," his mother gently reprimanded. "Keladry."

"Kel," he said stubbornly, and managed no more.

"That's so cute," Ilane giggled. "Kel. That's a nickname that will stick."

The two women continued to lovingly watch their children acknowledge each other. Young Joren reached his other hand over the side to gently touch the fine, thin down covering the top of her head. It was so soft, like lamb's wool, perhaps even softer. He smiled slightly as the other impossibly tiny hand captured his own vaguely larger one. Kel's appealing mouth curled into a childish attempt at a smile.

"They look so charming together," Cheyenne sighed, eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Maybe too charming," Ilane remarked, grinning.

Just then Cheyenne inhaled sharply, wheeling around to face her friend since childhood and to grasp Ilane's long-fingered hands in her small, delicate ones. "I have a brilliant idea," she whispered excitedly, large brown eyes sparkling mirthfully.

Knowing with a little too much firsthand experience just what kind of devious ideas Cheyenne thought up, Ilane eyed her suspiciously, a frown slanting her full mouth downwards.

"And just what is this idea?" she asked cautiously.

"Burchard and Piers won't like it," Cheyenne added, brow wrinkling slightly as she gazed at Joren and Keladry – now dubbed Kel – with worried eyes.

Ilane pursed her lips as a sudden wave of irritation overcame her. Both their husbands made it widely known to everything and everybody that they disapproved of each other and their wives' friendship. They harbored a deep, unknown grudge that had been brought about somewhere in childhood and continued when they were well into maturity and manhood. Despite their animosity, the two women continued to maintain their close sisterly friendship, and it never wavered.

"And what is it?" Ilane persisted patiently.

"I think – and I'm sure you'll agree with me, Ilane, love, since they look so adorable together – that your Keladry and my Joren should marry, come the time."

At first, the thought almost set Ilane into a fit of doubtful laughter. But then, glimpsing a peek of the plea and the resolve in her friend's eyes, the impulse subsided. Soon it was replaced by a hesitant but growing liking to the suggestion. She unconsciously raised a finger to her curving lips, tapping them pensively.

"I think it's brilliant," she finally cried out.

Cheyenne grinned. She knew Ilane would agree, and would have been surprised if she had put up even the slightest bit of an argument.

"We mustn't tell Burchard or Piers," she hurried on.

"Oh, spit, Cheyenne, you know we have to," her friend protested.

"Perhaps," Cheyenne admitted doubtfully. "But maybe we should do it later, when the children are older."

"I suppose," Ilane murmured agreeably, warming to the idea. "Yes, yes. Why didn't I think of that?" she frowned.

"Because I'm the clever one," she giggled smugly. They shared a snort.

Oblivious to the discussion, Joren continued to poke his unwitting betrothed. Even if he had been listening, it was too long a tête-à-tête for his two-year-old mind to follow. He traded comfortable baby talk with little Kel, who let out a lusty crow when he blew teasingly on her neck. Those dimpled hands waved around, touching his own short satin locks of gold hair, those eyes searching his with a profound solemnity beyond her years.

"Come along, Joren," Cheyenne called, donning her fur overcoat. "Let's go home."

Reluctantly, the small blond boy wiggled down from his position on the side of the bassinet. As an afterthought, he struggled back up and bended over, balancing – or tottering, more likely – precariously on the sides, and planted a loud smacking kiss on the baby's round cheek. He wrinkled his nose, embarrassed, as his mother and her friend let out annoyingly noisy exclamations over that display of affection.

He took Cheyenne's outstretched hand, endured an icky kiss from Ilane of Mindelan, and followed his mother out the door.

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I'm writing an update of Entwined Destinies, so don't kill me. Anyway, R/R, pretty please?