[ Precisely, glad to see Thorin finally gets it. Now, this is what he'd wanted, true, but finding himself with a willing participant, there, with head tilted and waiting, is a touch different than urging for it. The arm had been easy. A few wraps and a quick tie; done. The head however... there's hair and a much closer gaze, the proximity required of him to do this properly suddenly feeling all that more daunting.
So he stalls. And fiddles. Mostly fiddles. Cloth in one hand and fingers tightly pinched into that strip, his other hovering on indecision. Where to touch, how to wrap, how to—oh bother, enough of that. He breathes out and begins, carefully, yet very simply, wrapping it over hair and around. Aside from not being a warrior or a burglar, Bilbo is also not a medic; he has a very loose understanding of how to dress wounds, so it's haphazard at best, the way he covers his forehead, just edging on the line of his brow.
It'll do. He hopes. ]
The eagles saved us. Set us down on the Carrock. [ A glance down, angled between the width of his arms to get a look at Thorin's face and he just as soon scuttles away again, paying more attention to gently tying off the cloth. ] We'd just begun the climb down and... [ There. He drops his arms, sits back on his heels and shrugs through the following— ] I found myself here.
[ Or not here, per say. Just somewhere in this in-between, not quite clear world. ]
i should start keeping a running tally of how many times you edit. see how high it gets.
Precisely, glad to see Thorin finally gets it. Now, this is what he'd wanted, true, but finding himself with a willing participant, there, with head tilted and waiting, is a touch different than urging for it. The arm had been easy. A few wraps and a quick tie; done. The head however... there's hair and a much closer gaze, the proximity required of him to do this properly suddenly feeling all that more daunting.So he stalls. And fiddles. Mostly fiddles. Cloth in one hand and fingers tightly pinched into that strip, his other hovering on indecision. Where to touch, how to wrap, how to—oh bother, enough of that. He breathes out and begins, carefully, yet very simply, wrapping it over hair and around. Aside from not being a warrior or a burglar, Bilbo is also not a medic; he has a very loose understanding of how to dress wounds, so it's haphazard at best, the way he covers his forehead, just edging on the line of his brow.
It'll do. He hopes. ]
The eagles saved us. Set us down on the Carrock. [ A glance down, angled between the width of his arms to get a look at Thorin's face and he just as soon scuttles away again, paying more attention to gently tying off the cloth. ] We'd just begun the climb down and... [ There. He drops his arms, sits back on his heels and shrugs through the following— ] I found myself here.
[ Or not here, per say. Just somewhere in this in-between, not quite clear world. ]