Ram listened, his own heart aching at Nyra's voice. Her questions, filled with insecurity and a longing that mirrored his own unspoken feelings.
He saw the slight tremor in her shoulders, the way she avoided his gaze after her outburst, and the proud, fiery Half-Drow spirit that usually defined her now seemed fragile, almost pleading.
He didn't know what had gotten into him.
Words, usually his strength in navigating complex situations, failed him.
Explanations, reassurances, apologies, they all felt inadequate, clumsy.
Instead, an instinct he hadn't realized took over.
Slowly, so as not to startle her, he reached out.
His hands, steady despite the turmoil within him, found her delicate waist.
The fabric of her Drow-styled attire felt soft beneath his fingers, and he could feel the warmth of her body, the slight, almost imperceptible trembling.
He didn't pull her closer, not yet. He just held her, his touch a silent answer, an acknowledgment of her words, of her.
