the right words

It was amusing, in a horrible way, to watch her falter and struggle to remain upright. He hadn't been around too many children, but she was unlike a toddling pup trying to figure out its new gangly legs. Laeta had retained the snark and witticism all throughout her stasis in her room, and it hadn't been lost now that she was up and moving. Up she went, from the floor to her knobby, thin legs. A brow quirked imperceptibly in surprise. Though as the petite damsel slumped awkwardly onto the hardwood he couldn't help but snort softly and tip his skull to regard her features from a new angle. She did, however, agree to have him heft her back to her feet. He grunted wordlessly in assent and lowered his titanic frame so he could slide a forepaw under her chest as he had done more than a few times lately. Slipping his forearm under her chest and neck, he sought to lift her onto her rump again as he straightened out his leg again. He caught the soft laughter she let out, quickly followed by a remark about wolves and sheep clothing. By the time he had gotten her sitting upright, the cosmic giant decided he would take a seat himself, outstretching his thick foreleg and fitting it loosely against her dainty shoulder to lean her meagre weight against. He doubted she weighed enough to even bruise his leg at this point.

The dark furred fae mentioned that she was already exhausted, and requested that he take her to bed. There was another joke in there about the ease of manhandling her, and he chuffed out a small laugh through an upturned lip. Brilliant amaranthe gaze drifted over her shoulder, to the pouring rain that fell outside. "You've spent a hell of a lot of time in there already, wouldn't you rather sit in the rain for a while?" he offered with a lifted brow. "A little wet grass under your paws might be nice, if you can stand being carried down three flights of stairs by an old man like myself." rumbling vocals brought forth the chance for adventure with a small shrug of his heavy shoulder. There was something about spending all of ones time indoors, without easy access to the dirt and its byproducts, that couldn't possibly be good for a recovering patient. Turf was easier to fall onto than stone and wood, besides. If she wanted to practice her walking, it would be kinder for her battered joints to be landing on grass and spongy, wet earth.