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    Summary

    Grabbing her hand, he looked it over. Asmo painted her nails black at her insistence so no one would think she was playing favorites, because she was always so much more considerate with him and his brothers than they deserved. Her hands were soft, she didn’t have callouses the way he did from working out and playing Fangol, and they were so tiny in comparison to his. Dainty, that was the word he was looking for. For a moment he just marveled at them, so small and delicate. But just holding on to one anchored him in the present when he slept and kept bad dreams away better than any talisman he could ever hope to find.

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