@absentpublic asked: takes his hand. unfolds his fingers. presses a very soft kiss to the palm of his hand.
It has been days now, he considers. Aye. Some innumerable, toiling, and such difficult evenings. Beneath his feet, the earth seems to squelch unto his sabatons, their maws opening right up as to vacuum right in. He grimaces. My, is every step a damned journey and is every jaunt a great menace! Above him, the heavens split, the rain pelts, and he keeps his watch.
He can't help it. Orin is dead now, but lingering in his head... Gripping his sword, he yet hears his dear, still, as she cried in her rescue. In her tent, Henry peers out unto the dock and its waters, the tempest too blustery and drummy to discern stirring in her sheets. When she touches him, it's with a near bursting of his heart, his eyes happening upon her so endearingly wide. He gawks. The softness of her face as she pries open his hand... He starts to melt. She kisses it, the gauntlet, and a great number pf nonsense swells to his throat. "Nettie? What are you...?" Why are you up now, he wonders, like you're swearing your fealty? He's dazed. Then, another kiss there and nestled at his palm... "God Almighty, love, what's gotten into you?"
