[It's hard not to let his eyes slip closed with how good Gale's touch feels. But he's still hanging on the wizard's every word. His hair, at least, remains unchanged from his death. But it's still something he hasn't seen in centuries. To hear it described with Gale's loving lyricism is a treat, a true sign of his affection.
Though his face does twist into a faint scowl at the last part.]
What do you mean a crease? It's not a wrinkled, is it?
[He reaches up, touching his fingertips to the damp spot Gale left, trying to feel for the crease he speaks of.]
no subject
Though his face does twist into a faint scowl at the last part.]
What do you mean a crease? It's not a wrinkled, is it?
[He reaches up, touching his fingertips to the damp spot Gale left, trying to feel for the crease he speaks of.]