Thunder Dome No one's telling me the cure

He likes her accent.
It is a harmony of honey in a field of wildflowers. Soft, but sometimes sharp. Whole and full.
He nodded. She was smart and clearly good at her trade.
Or so he hoped so.

"They do, but I do not practice them."
Sometimes he wished that he had done so. 
Her features enchanted him, suggesting that if she did...maybe she'd turn into a witch? Maybe she was a witch? Was she like Dove? No, surely not. Though women were easily deceptive.

"Of course," he replied, sitting.
He didn't mind free treatment, especially if she was happy to do so.
He tilted his head down so she could see the fresh nicks from his fight at Ursus along his nape.