NATE
The tragic flaw of charming men
is exactly as it seems,
too much grease,
can break down a machine.
is exactly as it seems,
too much grease,
can break down a machine.
After everything, the (long long long long long) night, the trek, through the dark, armed only with singing and the hopes that the luxere would stay, Sams emotional breakdown, everything, Nate was exhausted. He left Sam with someone keeping an eye on him, trusted them to keep him in one place, just for a little, and had mumbled something about a nap. He’d found the nearest wall and leaned against it, sliding down.
He closed his eyes, rubbing them gently, and was content to stay like that. Content enough. There was this noise though, this soft scraping, and it was heating enough that he cracked an eye, and saw... some kid, whittling away with a knife. He watched for a moment, then forced himself to sit up more, and lean over.
”You wanna change your grip.” He said softly, holding his hand up to try and demonstrate. It wasn’t like he knew anything about whittling, but he knew a thing or two about knife safety.
