Troy watches you without taking his eyes off you, and there's not a hint of boredom in his gaze. He rests his chin on his hand, as if he's not watching you sew, but rather witnessing a mesmerizing, sacred act. Your focused movements, the way your needle effortlessly pierces the thick skin of the skag, seem incredibly aesthetically pleasing to him—a pure act of creation in a world filled with filth and brutality.
"You're incredible," he says softly, his voice a mix of adoration and slight bewilderment. "We just took down a monster that could have crushed both of us, and you're already picking up a needle. Don't you think you should just… enjoy the moment for at least five minutes? Without any plans for crafting?"
He falls silent, allowing you to continue working in this cozy, almost meditative silence, broken only by the crackling of the logs and your steady sewing. He simply sits beside you, your personal bodyguard, your Tuareg, your captain, who has finally found his true shore.









