“I’m a disaster. You know I am. I’m prickly. I prefer dead people to living ones. I’m only good at digging graves and surviving in a forest. My brother thinks I’ve abandoned the family, and my sister loves me, but then again she loves a dead goat, so her standards are a bit off. Oh, and the last family member that irritated me? I buried him in an unmarked grave.”
“And I’m a mapmaker who gets lost quite often,” said Ellis. “I have no family to speak of, I couldn’t survive two days in the wilds, and I’ll probably never be able to lift anything heavier than a tankard with my left arm.”
“That isn’t you,” she said, and she took his hand. “You’re—you’re good, Ellis. You’re kind and you’re good and I’m—not.”
“Well, I like you that way.”
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