Do not, say her eyebrows, though she makes no real effort to intercede. Instead, Fitcher plants a hand on the blanket behind her and settles back onto the locked joint of her elbow. Half sat beside him, half straddling him still, she's upright enough that the breeze stirs through the loose filaments of her dark hair and tugs idly at her shirt's unbuttoned neck. If he shows his wear on his skin, she is remarkably unchanged from all her time in Kirkwall. Yes, there are the ragged, coiled scars coursing from ribs to hip are very dark in the sunlight. But she came with those and has evidently acquired no easily noted others.
(The scar just behind her hairline has healed into a line so fine that it doesn't significantly interrupt the lay of the hair about it.)
"You should auction off my things once Yseult's finished looking through them." The hand not supporting her weight wiggles its fingers in the direction of his joint. "I'd wager they'll raise a decent sum for Riftwatch's pocket."
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Date: 2022-07-30 08:48 pm (UTC)(The scar just behind her hairline has healed into a line so fine that it doesn't significantly interrupt the lay of the hair about it.)
"You should auction off my things once Yseult's finished looking through them." The hand not supporting her weight wiggles its fingers in the direction of his joint. "I'd wager they'll raise a decent sum for Riftwatch's pocket."