Eion took a pause to wrap both of his hands around the freshly made drink, taking in the warmth as it suffused his palms. Even if she tried to deny it or politely dismissed the idea, Eion knew it to be true — he couldn't interrupt or interject or talk over someone. He couldn't raise his voice. Writing took more time, more thought, than speaking.
Maybe that was why Aelius started to open up to him. Eion couldn't remember the time when the boy would pay out offhand compliments, regardless of the subject matter. Had that only become a possibility since Eion was maimed and his voice was all but destroyed? Or was he only noticing it now, when so many of his actions kept his hands too preoccupied for him to contribute to a conversation?
Don't have much free time, he added. If you were bothering me, I'd leave.
If nothing else, his lack of manners left him acutely honest.
lena roze
