Theea
rise to the occasion
I come bundled in one of my dad’s old jackets, sleeves swallowing my hands and the hem brushing half way down my thighs. Between that, my boots, and thick pants, I’m not winning any fashion contests—but at least I’m warm, and it feels like home. My pack is stuffed near to bursting, blankets poking out the top, a hammer tucked alongside tins and dried goods for stocking I’d scrounged from fixing up my house.
I bounce up to
I lift the coffee to my lips, then glance at him sidelong with a wry smile. “You don’t happen to have sugar, do you? No?” My grin widens, unbothered, and I take a careful sip of the bitter coffee anyway.
“Fair warning—these are noodle arms you’re working with. But if you need someone to climb or squeeze into tight spots, I’m your girl.” I give him a proud smile, as if I've got every skill he needs. I don't, but I'm here.
Theea arrives with stocking supplies and few building supplies!
got fears but I face them
