[He reaches for her, and she cannot shy away. Not only because truly, she is too tired now even for such a small thing as that, senses dulled and shot by overstimulation in the frenetic pace of battle... but also because she has grown to know that with his touch comes the tiniest degree of comfort she has in this place. Recognition. Anchor. Acceptance.
Her skin jumps slightly beneath the curl of his fingers, but she does not, cannot, move away.]
... it may not be for long, my Lord.
[Her voice is quiet, too tired for the usual grit and fire, the growl of a warrior. She sounds more like a simple woman now than she probably ever has, even when he'd found her begging to die upon the prison ship. The words themselves could be perceived as comforting, perhaps, some sign that they might be returned to their worlds soon enough...
But she doesn't mean it so positively as that at all.]
no subject
Her skin jumps slightly beneath the curl of his fingers, but she does not, cannot, move away.]
... it may not be for long, my Lord.
[Her voice is quiet, too tired for the usual grit and fire, the growl of a warrior. She sounds more like a simple woman now than she probably ever has, even when he'd found her begging to die upon the prison ship. The words themselves could be perceived as comforting, perhaps, some sign that they might be returned to their worlds soon enough...
But she doesn't mean it so positively as that at all.]