[ he sits, then, seeing no more reason to hover about, uncomfortable in his own room. he is used to moving around in it with the outsider, the space between the bed and table just enough to keep them from needing to risk touching at the start. now, the brush of fabric when they pass is so little as to not be thought of. he is aware of his body (an odd sensation, bordering on self-concious), of gwenaëlle sitting on his bed.
he pours himself a glass slightly more haphazardly, and takes a long drink, leaning back into his chair, watching her sit.
nothing ought to be said about halamshiral, they cannot talk about shard-related nonsense, and he thinks himself at a loss, without any topic at all safe to choose from, but then: ]
How is the hound?
[ she knows. the one he forced upon her. a replacement for his own tendency to sniff about her and growl. ]
no subject
he pours himself a glass slightly more haphazardly, and takes a long drink, leaning back into his chair, watching her sit.
nothing ought to be said about halamshiral, they cannot talk about shard-related nonsense, and he thinks himself at a loss, without any topic at all safe to choose from, but then: ]
How is the hound?
[ she knows. the one he forced upon her. a replacement for his own tendency to sniff about her and growl. ]