[Out in the forest somewhere, haphazardly sprawled across the recently fallen snow, is Tear. She is partly covered by her hair, but the cold and wet of the fallen precipitation on the ground below her rouses her not long after she was deposited. She sits up, disoriented, and looks around. Realizing where she was, she immediately looked for her
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Are you okay?
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You can't speak... [He can't help but notice how tired she looks.]
Come here, let me carry you.
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Alright, then let's get you home.
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Your voice will come back, I'm sure.
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["I know," she mouths. In the meantime, she was rather in need of a pen.]
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[He gently pats her shoulder. Too bad he left his journal and pens are home or he would have handed something over by now. But the house isn't far, and they come upon it soon enough.]
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[She's a little uncertain about the contact, but overall doesn't seem to mind it terribly. A though occurs to her after a moment and she looks from him and down his arm, until his hand which she takes with both of her gloved ones and swings it back over her head-- assuming he still had it around her shoulders, that is --and splays his hand between hers, writing on his palm.]
["Thank you," she writes in neat, precise Fonic.]
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[At first he thinks she's just trying to get him to let go of her, but when she starts writing on his hand, he pays close attention so he doesn't have to ask her to do it again. When he realizes what she's writing he just smiles, and shakes his head.]
You don't have to thank me.
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Go rest.
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...
[Stay for a while, would you?]
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