[She recalls. Nods into the pillow, and thinks of where she had found him. When she had tried to lift the hammer he had been staring at, and found herself unable to despite knowing it should be possible with her strength. She remembers the words he had read aloud for her- Whoever holds this hammer, if they be worthy, shall possess the power of Thor.
But she has only known Odinson. It is yet strange, to consider him by that name though she knows he must have lived centuries by it. The way he had spoken of it made it seem as if the hammer itself had chosen to be lost... and she tries to believe it, because he has never lied to her. His hand draws away, and she doesn't pursue it. Shame and anger are feelings she knows... very well. Perhaps better than any other. Some of the few emotions she can spot easily on a face, or in a heart.
What she did not quite expect was the empathetic pang in her own, to see it on his face. Though she does not think he will take it, (she herself might not, she knows), she just makes sure to leave one hand free, palm up, in silent offer on the mattress between them.
It is easier now to imagine then how the story ends- that without the hammer made by those dwarves that he had not been as strong, perhaps, not at his full potential, and so a dark creature had taken advantage of such plight. But in between...
Hayame does not put the wonder into words, though. Not this time. It is for him to decide if he wants to tell more now- it is clearly something deep, something painful- and though she invites the telling, looking clearly into his eyes unflinching... she does not demand it.]
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But she has only known Odinson. It is yet strange, to consider him by that name though she knows he must have lived centuries by it. The way he had spoken of it made it seem as if the hammer itself had chosen to be lost... and she tries to believe it, because he has never lied to her. His hand draws away, and she doesn't pursue it. Shame and anger are feelings she knows... very well. Perhaps better than any other. Some of the few emotions she can spot easily on a face, or in a heart.
What she did not quite expect was the empathetic pang in her own, to see it on his face. Though she does not think he will take it, (she herself might not, she knows), she just makes sure to leave one hand free, palm up, in silent offer on the mattress between them.
It is easier now to imagine then how the story ends- that without the hammer made by those dwarves that he had not been as strong, perhaps, not at his full potential, and so a dark creature had taken advantage of such plight. But in between...
Hayame does not put the wonder into words, though. Not this time. It is for him to decide if he wants to tell more now- it is clearly something deep, something painful- and though she invites the telling, looking clearly into his eyes unflinching... she does not demand it.]