#t merrill

[karate-blues]

Come Lord, and lift the fallen bird   Abandoned on the ground; The soul bereft and longing so   To have the lost be found. The heart that cries—let it but hear   Its sweet love answering, Or out of ether one faint note   Of living comfort wring.

“Come Lord and Lift,” by T. Merrill

[the-heart-of-the-beast]

Satinalia Gift - [for Merrill]

"'Sa blanket."  "Yes." Merrill blinked, continuing to stare at the parcel in her lap. "But why?" "Ya use'em ta'keep warm. Fer comfort."  He rolled his eyes and practically growled, though that wasn't particularly unusual. "Why're you makin' this so hard?" Her brow furrowed in confusion. "No, this is very soft. Did you stitch it yourself?" "Do I look like th'sorta man ta'stitch anythin' ain't an open wound?" He bit back, reaching down to shake the blanket out, revealing patterns not entirely dissimilar to those tattooed into her skin. "S'fer th'couch. I thought..." He huffed out a breath and shifted uncomfortably, dropping it back down into her lap. "Gets cold in here." Saying nothing, Merrill stood and wrapped her arms around his waist, leaving the large man standing with arms outstretched and awkwardly uncertain what to do with them. Eventually he dropped one down and patted firmly at the center of her spine until she withdrew, at which point he headed back out onto the porch and she dropped down onto his couch continuing to eye her unexpected gift with childlike wonder.