Her gaze casts shamefully downwards, shameful of the comfort such a word brings her, in how he seems to always be supporting her, and not the other way around- but it shoots back up soon enough at his insistence that he will go.]
My lord, you needn't-
[She finally does reach for him, fingers brushing just lightly over the tip of his braid, but he's going. Then he's gone, and though she tries to follow, her knees lock and threaten to buckle, and she's forced to wait, blood dripping slowly down her flanks and mixing in the dirt, sweat, and, on one back foreleg... what seems to be someone's vomit.
But there's a visible relief in her, that what he comes back with isn't one of the healers with their strange and invasive magic, but actual... bandages. Things that make sense.
Her mouth opens, planning to insist upon treating him first, then closes as he takes her hand. His own hands are so... warm. So beautiful. Without realizing, she curls slightly over him, their hands, struggling for something to say. What could she say, to excuse her weakness? To excuse how desperately she needed him- perhaps, how she had needed anyone.
But he was who she found.]
... you honor me beyond worth.
[Her voice catches slightly, and she concedes (how could she not, under such praise and such sincerity), reluctantly bowing her head as she takes back her hand and lowers herself into that space he had found, the last few inches more a fall than controlled lay, but it accomplishes the same purpose- it puts her bloody flanks and cut cheek within easy reach.]
no subject
Her gaze casts shamefully downwards, shameful of the comfort such a word brings her, in how he seems to always be supporting her, and not the other way around- but it shoots back up soon enough at his insistence that he will go.]
My lord, you needn't-
[She finally does reach for him, fingers brushing just lightly over the tip of his braid, but he's going. Then he's gone, and though she tries to follow, her knees lock and threaten to buckle, and she's forced to wait, blood dripping slowly down her flanks and mixing in the dirt, sweat, and, on one back foreleg... what seems to be someone's vomit.
But there's a visible relief in her, that what he comes back with isn't one of the healers with their strange and invasive magic, but actual... bandages. Things that make sense.
Her mouth opens, planning to insist upon treating him first, then closes as he takes her hand. His own hands are so... warm. So beautiful. Without realizing, she curls slightly over him, their hands, struggling for something to say. What could she say, to excuse her weakness? To excuse how desperately she needed him- perhaps, how she had needed anyone.
But he was who she found.]
... you honor me beyond worth.
[Her voice catches slightly, and she concedes (how could she not, under such praise and such sincerity), reluctantly bowing her head as she takes back her hand and lowers herself into that space he had found, the last few inches more a fall than controlled lay, but it accomplishes the same purpose- it puts her bloody flanks and cut cheek within easy reach.]