apparently this is my new favorite prompt, sorry in advance if i write a couple more



When they were children, Ephraim and Eirika’s visits in summer dragged him to explore corners of the countryside that he mostly identified through moments shared with them: that one stream they’d jumped into, that one hill Eirika had wanted to climb, that tree whose branch almost broke under Ephraim, the hill they’d watched a sunset from, and always, the warmth of their chatter. When the sun crossed into mid-afternoon, they’d hunt for berries; Ephraim, most daring, would often end with reddish streaks of juice or scratches on his face, his hair tousled, and Eirika would fuss over the stains they’d leave on their hands and clothes, red and purple and black; and Lyon could still feel the taste when they returned to the castle when the sun went down, sour on his lips, even as his dry mouth still remembered their sweetness.

He remembers it as a dizzying sensorial flashback years later, the first time he breathes in the acrid smoke of dark magic rituals, and the smell stays in his lungs long after he’s completed it; on his lips, he can almost fancy the taste of childhood summer-berries, and how bitter their departure always left him.