The candlelight softened his weather-worn features and deep wrinkles until they were only suggestions. Shadows still haunted his deep-set eyes. "I am old enough to be your father," he whispered, his knobby, long-fingered hands curling into fists on the table.
"But you're not, Tam." Cara moved her own hands, not particularly young, but made so in comparison to his own, towards his. Tam stiffened and made to pull away, but hesitated. Cara reached further, and he let her lay her hand upon his. Tam's fist tightened and she felt him quiver in his seat. The other patrons of the inn's tavern forgotten, Tam let her unfold his hand.
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