Finley nodded mutely, Dr. Marnin’s hand on her shoulder. It just wasn’t correct here, that couldn’t have been Harley. She took in a shuddering breath, nodding.
They started forwards, Gwyneth’s hand in Finley’s. The little girl pulled her forwards and Finley stumbled forwards. She was about to plant face-first into the soil when Dr. Marnin caught her waist and hefted her up on her feet again.
“Thanks,” Finley whispered, breaking her lapse of silence and shuffling in the ground, “I promise I’m not this emotional or clumsy. You’ve just met me on a bad day.”
Dr. Marnin nodded, then looked on for an exit.
Darn. I chronically ship, it’s a problem
i could've gone outside to take a walk, but i know that i wouldn't've come back