He places his hand in hers (cool granite on warm flesh), and clasps his fingers around those fine bones.

She is stunning. Her memories flow over him, through him, mingling with the sweet symphony of her heart beat, the flush of sweat on her skin, the scent of her hair. It's an assault on his senses, and one that he gladly submits to. She reminds him why he chose to return from the wilds.

He lets her feel his weight as he stands, using her as a counterbalance. It's easier now, after sparring with her. They've danced, so to speak.

'You need to rest. And something to drink, perhaps.'

He doesn't want to seem uncivilized.