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You were going to burn a hole right through your chamber floor if you kept pacing like a wildcat. Eight steps to the wall, a sharp pivot, and then eight steps to the open window that Steffon was sitting in front of, his fingers absently tapping upon the sharpened steel of his sword.
Truly, he didn't know what you had expected. Though Steffon would love to have protected you from everything, your parents wrath was one thing that he had less than no control over.
"Are you not tired yet?" He asked, voice a gruff noise in the quiet of the room as he watched you take another sharp pivot. Gods above, you were a dramatic little thing. This was not the first time that your parents had gotten upset, and it would not be the last. Steffon knew how protective they were, how they doted over you like you were a baby bird; too fragile and weak to survive even the smallest of breezes shaking the nest.
One, two, three, four, five, six, sevenโ
An arm shot out to stop the constant pacing of your feet, curling around your wrist and tugging you to sit upon the windowsill next to him, careful that you did not get near the sharp edge of his sword.
"Stop the pacing, you're tiring my eyes watching you." Is what sighed out of his mouth, a large hand petting over your hair, pushing it out of your face. "Would you like to speak about it, or would you rather keep wearing your footprints into the wood."
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