thistle
Patience is a becoming trait.
The sound of plastic crinkled as Vahl secured both hands beneath her legs before scooping Ellie up and straightening from the floor with ease. He adjusted the bag of raw meat more comfortably on his wrist before heading out, the glass doors sliding open before the pair. "Why are you apologizing? Have you never been carried like this before?" A shimmering lock of her hair fell in the way, and with hollowed lips he tried to blow the strand out of view. "Ellie," he began, humor in his voice as the strand remained stubbornly in his vision, "you'll have to move your hair out of the way if you want us to get there safely. Otherwise I'm walking blind."