"Your toes, maybe." An attack. Even buried under blankets, they're a force to reckon with. His own nudge at the ball of her foot in faint punctuation. Outside's cold, he oughta feed the fire. Cedric doesn't get up. "Good, I mean... 's good."

And it is. Something swells a little in his chest for the words. Just:

"I want that for you. I want you t'have that. And I worry sometimes, that being here. That 's hard on you."