“Give me something …”
“Oh! I got this golden crown on my last …”
“No. Something you’ve made.”
He looks at his hands.
Callused from weapons use.
Scarred from taking hits in the course of his duties.
The same duties that she once had long ago.
Things were different for him then.
He may have been able to carve something crude
But not now. He has lost the knowhow.
He’s lost the ability.
Certainly nothing to compare with her beauty.
Or with the gifts from the Master Craftsman
That decorate her bower, her person.
It is just one more thing he can’t give her,
Can’t be for her.
He looks up at her.
One large solitary tear rolls out of his eye.
Concerned, she reaches up to wipe it away.
As she touches the tear, it solidifies
and settles into her palm.
Eyes wide, she cradles it.
“It is beautiful.”