guns for hands

Truly, Spectra worked with a tireless fervor, and Aesop's respect for her soared to new heights. For her to work with such enthusiasm on a home that would not even be hers was admirable, as even Aesop had not dug with such wild abandon, and had taken his short breaks in the necessary task of clearing the loosened earth away while she had not. When she did stop, she still stood, whereas Aesop had flung himself to the ground, so that when she spoke he had to look up to her.

"Shit, was I like- did I- whatever. Ramblin' is ramblin', I guess," he huffed, not pleased that his words had, apparently, gotten away from him again. "I like it, is what I'm tryin' to say." He stared into the yawning maw of the shallow den. There was still work to be done, but it would be a handsome home when they were done. With that thought, his energy renewed, simultaneous with the dawning of a thought. He stood up, shaking himself again, then nudged her shoulder with his nose. "Wanna share it? I wouldn't mind a roomie, and you've already paid your rent."