[Myr meets his Bonded laugh for laugh, though his own's a quieter thing and more wistful. When wakefulness is a resource we can both afford embeds a painful truth about their Bond and how far they'd come to their own limits. Easier to feel optimistic about that now, after a relative triumph; but how they will inhabit it upon waking when so many problems yet remain...
Leave it for tomorrow. Likewise the comment on his own needs--expressed in L's utterly direct manner, it cuts right to the bone of Myr's cultivated and half-believed illusions about himself. The faun's tired enough, though, that it merely twinges sinking in, lodging near his heart for later rumination.
He lifts a hand to acknowledge the hit and concedes the field:] True enough, and I'd best get to it or I'll end up asleep Maker-knows-where again.
[That's his call to make his way to the bedroom, now that he's stowed the jam and butter. He starts that way, trailing a feeling behind them through their Bond like the fond touch of a hand through hair.
Crookytail, meanwhile, drops the slice of bread it's enthusiastically masticating to press its crummy face into L's hand. Antennae wreathe and wave around the detective's arm; you are still here, still the same size, still herd. All's well.
How nearly it might not have been is nothing a wormipede need concern itself with.]
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Leave it for tomorrow. Likewise the comment on his own needs--expressed in L's utterly direct manner, it cuts right to the bone of Myr's cultivated and half-believed illusions about himself. The faun's tired enough, though, that it merely twinges sinking in, lodging near his heart for later rumination.
He lifts a hand to acknowledge the hit and concedes the field:] True enough, and I'd best get to it or I'll end up asleep Maker-knows-where again.
[That's his call to make his way to the bedroom, now that he's stowed the jam and butter. He starts that way, trailing a feeling behind them through their Bond like the fond touch of a hand through hair.
Crookytail, meanwhile, drops the slice of bread it's enthusiastically masticating to press its crummy face into L's hand. Antennae wreathe and wave around the detective's arm; you are still here, still the same size, still herd. All's well.
How nearly it might not have been is nothing a wormipede need concern itself with.]