She shifts in the sand, coming closer to him.
She listens closely as he points out certain things on the yellowed pieces of paper before them. She has no doubt that whatever the scribbles on the paper say; it won't bring them any closer to whatever their goal is. But he has faith that there is something to be found in the French words scrawled throughout the parchments. He has too much faith, she thinks darkly sometimes. Faith in the bonfires, faith in a crazy woman, faith in her, clearly he has no bounds.
He looks at her and smiles and the dark cloud goes away. 'I need you to…' he begins and she nods taking the pencil he offers. He needs her and there's nothing wrong with it. He stares at her and her skin doesn't crawl, doesn't make her feel dirty. He needs her and she's more than an useless brat, perhaps more than she's ever been.
With him, it's nice to be needed.