The man's legs were heavy.
Amelia Clarke's legs, wrapped in denim jeans, were very thin, giving Owen Moreland the odd illusion that he might break them.
Amelia applied the ointment carefully, her movements gentle.
The girl's head was bowed, her expression serious and focused, her straight and smooth ponytail naturally split into two and draped over her shoulders, a few stray wisps by her fair and delicate ears trembling with each breath she took. Her long, curled eyelashes, refined features, and the subtle vulnerability in her beauty were apparent.
Owen Moreland's gaze on her was calm.
Not the calmness of cool reason, but a peace from within his heart.
Her fingertips were delicate and soft as they caressed his ankle. As he watched, the hand seemed to caress his very heart.
About ten minutes or so.
Amelia stopped, let his pant leg down, gently placed his leg on the ground, and with a quiet smile murmured, "That should do it."