WEAVER
He is a zombie. The cold doesn’t help. He merely lets her lead him as one might a dog, stumbling along behind her. There’s something so lost about him, and it makes her nervous and worried and angry all at once. The temptation to shove him down into the snow and leave him there is real, though she would never actually do it. Particularly not now, when a few seconds in that snow would probably result in hypothermia.
So she drags him home, because there’s nothing else she can do. His hand in hers, she leads him through the streets of Snowcloak and back into their house, slamming the door behind them with a kick. It seems pointless to try and get him to talk, so she stops, determining just how much he can actually do himself, though setting about removing his outer layers if she needs to before dragging him upstairs to his room.
So she drags him home, because there’s nothing else she can do. His hand in hers, she leads him through the streets of Snowcloak and back into their house, slamming the door behind them with a kick. It seems pointless to try and get him to talk, so she stops, determining just how much he can actually do himself, though setting about removing his outer layers if she needs to before dragging him upstairs to his room.
I was made to be wild, wicked, and free
