Fools rush in, he tells her for the umpteenth time as he disenchants some sort of ridiculous magical injury she's done herself in practicing her newfound abilities. Fools rush in where angels fear to tread. Be more careful, silly girl.
"I'm no angel, Uncle A," she grins, somewhere between sly and apologetic.
He knows that well enough. Still, there's a kind of purity in her refusal to lie down and accept life's inevitable injustice, her bursts of cranky, reluctant compassion.
He wants to pull her into his arms and hide her from the world, charge into every fray to defend her. Wants to make sure she knows he loves her with everything he's got.
But it's not in him to be that demonstrative.
Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.