To help her up he has to stand, and to stand he has to break the seal of this very indulgent slouch. It takes a sharp hiss of breath and a resentful rankle, joints popped behind his shoulders and in one knee as he rises, a felled pine tree reversing upright with an old dog’s reluctance. He has a hard night’s sleep waiting for him somewhere.

Once he’s up, just a touch of sway to his shoulders, he offers his right hand out with fingers splayed. Either awaiting further instruction, or content to improvise once she’s grabbed on.

Barely there, a little black tongue threads mlem mlem across bony tendon from the shadow of his cuff.