I shall, I think, I will write you an ode. I am already writing Axl one, it seems the best way.
[He thinks Sif is leaving. He doesn't at all expect her to turn around again, and, oh, he thinks he follows. It's hard to but he is instantly reassured anyway, that she's been listening, that she's presently here. All he manages aloud is "oh," quietly. He can't verbalise anything else. Putting his other hand over hers at his wrist, he smiles at her.]
no subject
[He thinks Sif is leaving. He doesn't at all expect her to turn around again, and, oh, he thinks he follows. It's hard to but he is instantly reassured anyway, that she's been listening, that she's presently here. All he manages aloud is "oh," quietly. He can't verbalise anything else. Putting his other hand over hers at his wrist, he smiles at her.]