( And then she comes back with a fucking bedsheet. He snorts loudly — but takes it all the same, slowly wadding up the bundle of fabric with careful hands, then tucking it under his arm. )
It'll do.
( Bedsheet or no, it'll work just fine. He's pragmatic enough, it's large enough, warm enough. Until he can find something better... it'll do.
Perhaps he ought to thank her. Perhaps he ought to apologize for the outburst, and about half a dozen other things. Perhaps he ought to tell her that he'll heal, and he'll make good. Promise to take her north. Promise not to put hands on her, like her shit husband. Promise that all the nasty things he says aren't true, that she's nothing to fear from him, that his bark is only bark with her, that her sister's safe and strong, that he'll watch over her here, that he's impressed by how she's changed.
In the end, he says nothing else. Just turns, ducks his head, and walks away with the fabric still tucked under his arm. Words are almost always horseshit anyway. )
no subject
It'll do.
( Bedsheet or no, it'll work just fine. He's pragmatic enough, it's large enough, warm enough. Until he can find something better... it'll do.
Perhaps he ought to thank her.
Perhaps he ought to apologize for the outburst, and about half a dozen other things.
Perhaps he ought to tell her that he'll heal, and he'll make good. Promise to take her north. Promise not to put hands on her, like her shit husband. Promise that all the nasty things he says aren't true, that she's nothing to fear from him, that his bark is only bark with her, that her sister's safe and strong, that he'll watch over her here, that he's impressed by how she's changed.
In the end, he says nothing else. Just turns, ducks his head, and walks away with the fabric still tucked under his arm. Words are almost always horseshit anyway. )