She doesn't hold his hand back quite as firmly, but she does hold on to it, her grip light and gentle, but her expression conveys the gratitude she feels for the gesture, as well as the tone of the voice in his head.
"Thank you."
She wouldn't be opposed to a hug, but she's not sure either of their injuries would be fond of them for it. Even that thought she's appreciative of, even as she considers her words, how long a sweep is, how old Karkat and the Initiate are comparatively.
"I guess it's been a long time," comes the voice, also distracted. "Sometimes things get a little hard to remember when you move between worlds. I don't know how long it's really been."
Nill has no intention of actually resting, but everything aches dully, and the weight of that admittance, soft and a little off-handed as it may have been, drags on her. She lets go of his hand, but it's only so she can put a hand against her side for support again as she slides to sit down, probably bending or snagging several feathers in the process. The sigh of relief she lets out is barely audible, but he might still catch it.
"...I can't talk about this outside the Arena. I don't want them to try to bring the people I love here."
If ever he asks her a question that she can't answer, it's not because of him. She's tried so hard, and so many of the people she's loved are dead and gone. It would be more than cruel to mention them only for them to be brought back into a place like this. All avoidances outside the Arena are with the intent of protecting, and little else beyond that.
no subject
"Thank you."
She wouldn't be opposed to a hug, but she's not sure either of their injuries would be fond of them for it. Even that thought she's appreciative of, even as she considers her words, how long a sweep is, how old Karkat and the Initiate are comparatively.
"I guess it's been a long time," comes the voice, also distracted. "Sometimes things get a little hard to remember when you move between worlds. I don't know how long it's really been."
Nill has no intention of actually resting, but everything aches dully, and the weight of that admittance, soft and a little off-handed as it may have been, drags on her. She lets go of his hand, but it's only so she can put a hand against her side for support again as she slides to sit down, probably bending or snagging several feathers in the process. The sigh of relief she lets out is barely audible, but he might still catch it.
"...I can't talk about this outside the Arena. I don't want them to try to bring the people I love here."
If ever he asks her a question that she can't answer, it's not because of him. She's tried so hard, and so many of the people she's loved are dead and gone. It would be more than cruel to mention them only for them to be brought back into a place like this. All avoidances outside the Arena are with the intent of protecting, and little else beyond that.