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Such delicate fingers for a dwarf. The way they thread around the coarse hair of my beard, with the same dedication as they string the sinew around the stringnotch of his beloved bow.
I close my eyes and surrender to the touch of those hands. I will never tire of this sensation. For as long as I remember those nimble, skilled fingers have braided my proud beard and moustache.
When he puts the precious beads of our lineage in I almost sigh in disappointment that the ritual is already finished.
No-one else may touch me like this but my brother.