"Our stories." She agreed with ease, if those were the ones he chose to tell she knew it would be just as good as the ones he dreamed up. She was fond of them, there was something comforting in listening to the way his voice carried on, painting pictures as his magic coiled in the air, creating the images as he spoke. She was sure her mother would be endeared to it at the least, and her younger brother too. Many of the youth in the clutch loved stories as it was, the idea of adding to them-- they'd probably never get enough.

"I think that is a wonderful idea." She hummed out, her arms following suit, giving him a bit of a squeeze before she allowed him to ease in or out of things at his own pace. She wouldn't force him to be in the hug with her, but she wasn't letting go of him either until she felt it was doing some kind of good. She hated to see the weight each of them seemed to carry, his more than most. And she was going to do what she could to make it a little lighter each day.

Her voice softened, barely a whisper as the two stood in the cold hallway. "I see such good in you, I promise. I hope sometime you see it as clearly as I do."