Duskfire Glacier jimmy, you should switch it up

he watches her, stoic, as she speaks. faith is an unfamiliar thing to him—foreign, even. but he listens, because she is lousine, and he has never been able to ignore her voice.
her touch is soft, the brush of her tail against his thigh grounding in a way he doesn’t expect. he exhales, slow, considering.
i suppose i did ask, he admits, the barest ghost of a smirk touching his lips.
then, with a nod, he rises to follow her.
show me, then.