watchfob

tent flaps, warm summer air, the sound of insects outside. the light is fading but the lantern inside spills honey across the walls and they laugh gently, almost hushed, so as not to disturb the evening.

your hairs getting a little shaggy, she says softly, touching his head. he leans into her hand slightly, and hopes she doesnt notice.

(she does.)

is it? he says in a tone that suggests hes perfectly aware of it. i kind of like it.

do you? hers is much more amused. i suppose its… different.

he dips his head, smiling at a spot on the ground, and her breath catches for just a moment.

i think i might grow it out, he says quietly. he does not meet her eyes.

she is silent for a beat, watching. then, reaches into her pocket.

you might find this of use, then, she says, and places a ribbon in his hand. its a deep black, and silky. he wonders where she got it, and why - hes never seen her wear it herself.

he doesnt voice these thoughts.

thank you.

he tries not to savor the few seconds her fingers are on his palm, but fails miserably.







when she is no longer there to guide his sword, he ties the ribbon to the hilt of falchion, and pretends.