musebox for Ashfae's minions

Éowyn laughs brightly as they struggle to remove her mostly sodden shift together, fighting a shiver once she's rid of the cloth and pushing back tousled hair with one hand-- the other hurries to return to its place, clasping Faramir's shoulder for support. Done with her hair, she wastes little time wrapping her arms properly about his neck, quite happily pressing flush against him and indulgently stroking her fingers through his hair, now.

"It is pleasant enough, I grant you." She smiles down at him, maybe just a tad impishly, a certain gleam in her eye. "Perhaps not quite as pleasant as this, however."