"I will. I'll tell him." He uncorks the vial and presses it into Nathaniel's waiting hand.
He doesn't try to hold it, but his hand does hover in case of a tremble or a slip. There's more where it came from, but not much, and if he has to leave to get it he might lose his nerve. He's already barely holding onto it, casting around helplessly for something he can say, something right, that won't also make him crumble and choke when the only kind thing left to do is stay steady.
"I'll be right here. I'll—I remember you," he says, hoarse and hollow. He can't say it all, you died with your blood joined with mine, 1 but maybe Nathaniel still remembers how it goes.
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He doesn't try to hold it, but his hand does hover in case of a tremble or a slip. There's more where it came from, but not much, and if he has to leave to get it he might lose his nerve. He's already barely holding onto it, casting around helplessly for something he can say, something right, that won't also make him crumble and choke when the only kind thing left to do is stay steady.
"I'll be right here. I'll—I remember you," he says, hoarse and hollow. He can't say it all, you died with your blood joined with mine, 1 but maybe Nathaniel still remembers how it goes.