[She shakes her head gently, not so much dismissing the apology as gently brushing it aside. He's guilty, she knows. Of course he is. She'd be guilty as well, should their positions be reversed. But there's nothing for him to be guilty over. Their separation had been a forced thing, unwilling and unwanted, and now he's found his way back to her, and all is as it ought to be.]
You're here now.
[She wants to rest her head on his shoulder once more, but that would deprive her of the sight of him, and she's unwilling to go without that right now. Rosalind keeps drifting her fingers against him, through his hair, over the back of his neck, reacquainting herself with how he feels.
She isn't hiding her grief. But there's something firmer in her voice now, something that refuses to give into tears once more.]
For at least seventy-two hours, you're here. And I don't intend to waste that time.
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You're here now.
[She wants to rest her head on his shoulder once more, but that would deprive her of the sight of him, and she's unwilling to go without that right now. Rosalind keeps drifting her fingers against him, through his hair, over the back of his neck, reacquainting herself with how he feels.
She isn't hiding her grief. But there's something firmer in her voice now, something that refuses to give into tears once more.]
For at least seventy-two hours, you're here. And I don't intend to waste that time.