Will loves her thick accent, the strong powerful way she speaks, her tongue rolling carefully over her words. She's the sureness to his hesitant. The solid to his soft. He finds he can't work without her. Or with her. She leans down to tug up roots from the ground for one concoction or another, and Will is distracted. His axe falls from his hand and almost drops on his foot. She looks at him, bewildered. He can only smile sheepishly.

She cuts her hand, chopping up fresh tomatoes for dinner. Hard to get, but the Sheriff had delivered nicely. A slight expression of pain across her face as she drops the knife and holds her palm in her fingers. Will is swift to worry, quick to take her hands in his and clean it with water from his own canteen. Djaq just wishes he would kiss and make it better.

After dinner, he leans against a tree, watching the fire that Robin had started up. He thinks about her tiny hands in his larger ones. How delicate he'd tried to be. He hadn't wanted to break her. Sometimes, he feels like he could. His gaze shifts as she walks and kneels by Robin, sticking her hands above the fire, warming them up. He watches the hand wrapped in his scarf.

Allan stops next to him, clasps his shoulder warmly, and says heartily. "Ya just gonna stand there or should I have at 'er?" Will shifts, averting his eyes to the fire instead. He is uncomfortable at Allan's perception. Had he really been staring too hard? He doesn't say anything, but crosses his arms as if to bar everyone from knowing how he feels. He knows sometimes he wears his heart on his sleeve.

"I love you." His words are quivery, a bit shaky, but embedded with every feeling he had for her. The horse knickers and bumps his nose against Will's side, looking for pockets that may contain treats. He'll only love Will back if he gets carrots. Will wipes his hands on his shirt and sighs.

Maybe one day he'll tell her.