[It's a thoughtful invitation, and it elicits a nod from him as he jabs the point of the wooden sword down into the loam beneath their feet. A gesture, to the shimmering edges of the shield.]
May I?
[He'll speak to her invitation in a moment. For now he just wants to touch the shield itself. Things are made real by tactile sensation as much as by the eyes, the ears.]
no subject
May I?
[He'll speak to her invitation in a moment. For now he just wants to touch the shield itself. Things are made real by tactile sensation as much as by the eyes, the ears.]