[ yennefer drops her gaze to where his hand touches her foot. she's slow to smile, but when she does, it's an arrogant curve to her mouth. she can never help herself when it comes to this oaf of a man. she wishes she could. she wishes she could shove him away and abandon him in the shadows of night and never think of him again.
but he has nice hands—and he knows what to do with those bloody hands. she doesn't wish to melt, so she does her best to hide it beneath sharp prickliness.
she cocks her brow, ] Do you not think my feet can handle the trek?
no subject
but he has nice hands—and he knows what to do with those bloody hands. she doesn't wish to melt, so she does her best to hide it beneath sharp prickliness.
she cocks her brow, ] Do you not think my feet can handle the trek?
[ who is she if she doesn't needle him? ]