[How on earth can he even think of sitting at a time like this? Foolish man, he should not be taxing himself when only hours ago he was a hair's breadth away from death.]
No, I am unharmed. Lie down, you should not try to do so much so soon.
[For a moment, she is so fixed on the mass of bandages that cover his wound that she almost misses the amulet until the light catches it. She is still, her eyes resting on it, and at that moment a myriad of questions come to mind. Why does he still have it, why is he still wearing it? Has he still not given up on unravelling those old mysteries that had escaped him on that day in the cave?
She remembers how broken he had looked, how it had stirred something in her chest, how it had been the most natural thing in the world to take his hand, close the distance between them and-
A memory now, nothing more.
Her eyes leave his collarbone and travel to his face. He looks so tired, so old, and it is a jarring contrast to the Haytham in the memories that the sight of the amulet conjure. She does not pity him, it would leave a bad taste in her mouth to do such a thing as she knows, alike as they both are in so many ways, that to inspire pity in someone else would be entirely unwanted.
She does feel sympathy. That much is inescapable.
Tentatively, she steps towards him and presses her palm to the uninjured side of his torso, pushing gently and avoiding his eyes. Instead, her gaze settles on a long healed scar on his abdomen. She does not recognise it; there was a time when she knew every blemish on his body and the story behind each marker of his history, but this one she does not know.
Aware that she has looked for too long, she looks to his face again.]
no subject
No, I am unharmed. Lie down, you should not try to do so much so soon.
[For a moment, she is so fixed on the mass of bandages that cover his wound that she almost misses the amulet until the light catches it. She is still, her eyes resting on it, and at that moment a myriad of questions come to mind. Why does he still have it, why is he still wearing it? Has he still not given up on unravelling those old mysteries that had escaped him on that day in the cave?
She remembers how broken he had looked, how it had stirred something in her chest, how it had been the most natural thing in the world to take his hand, close the distance between them and-
A memory now, nothing more.
Her eyes leave his collarbone and travel to his face. He looks so tired, so old, and it is a jarring contrast to the Haytham in the memories that the sight of the amulet conjure. She does not pity him, it would leave a bad taste in her mouth to do such a thing as she knows, alike as they both are in so many ways, that to inspire pity in someone else would be entirely unwanted.
She does feel sympathy. That much is inescapable.
Tentatively, she steps towards him and presses her palm to the uninjured side of his torso, pushing gently and avoiding his eyes. Instead, her gaze settles on a long healed scar on his abdomen. She does not recognise it; there was a time when she knew every blemish on his body and the story behind each marker of his history, but this one she does not know.
Aware that she has looked for too long, she looks to his face again.]
Rest. I will sit with you until you sleep again.