It's an utterly foreign feeling. He can vaguely recall the gentle touch of a parent from long, long ago; a parent who cared enough to name him, to raise him for a time before death took her instead of him. But that was a long time ago, and it was not like this. He was not like this.
And so he is still, save for a slight incline of his own head -- enough that it touches Thranduil's. One hand holds the nug, the other still over her for her to bump her head up, if she so chooses to demand more petting -- and he is quietly grateful, because otherwise he imagines they would just hang at his sides, ultimately useless. ]
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It's an utterly foreign feeling. He can vaguely recall the gentle touch of a parent from long, long ago; a parent who cared enough to name him, to raise him for a time before death took her instead of him. But that was a long time ago, and it was not like this. He was not like this.
And so he is still, save for a slight incline of his own head -- enough that it touches Thranduil's. One hand holds the nug, the other still over her for her to bump her head up, if she so chooses to demand more petting -- and he is quietly grateful, because otherwise he imagines they would just hang at his sides, ultimately useless. ]