While she understood his position, that familiar burden being placed on her friend was a saddening notion. She wanted to ask what it was that -he- wanted, but he seemed less than keen to linger on it, so she let it go, despite it striking a deep chord in her. "I've been well," she confirmed. "The winter moons are rough, but I've got good company. And Spring is hopefully on its way." Taking his offered hand, she nodded with a gently teasing half-curtsy, "you may," and rested hers on his shoulder.
“Spring always comes,” Elof reassured Jimena--then paused, recalling a book he’d picked up once. It seemed full of sagacious and sound advice, so he referenced it: “save for once, under the influence of a White Witch; in the land of Narnia.” His face remained stoic--insinuating he believed what he had read to be a genuine recollection of events. He’d only encountered the one story, after all--little did he know it was part of a fictional story. “Or sometimes where I’m from,” Elof added, just in case his prior point was unrelatable.
Smiling a half-smile, Elof settled a hand on Jimena’s waist after bowing his golden-haired head, and began to turn them onto the dance floor. “You may lead if you wish,” Elof offered lightly, “as I am not as well-versed in dancing as I am in combat.” It was an admittance between friends said with a touch of shyness under a casual tone. He trusted her with the knowledge that, no, he wasn’t good at everything. Even if he strived to be.
She knew better, and he was strangely alright with that.
Jimena, after all, was practically family
