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Farkas wasn’t much for words.
No, that sort of thing was for Vilkas, all honeyed phrase and flowers.
He just had to fall for someone legendary, didn’t he? Harbringer of the Companions, the damned Dragon Born. Figures.
Still, sometimes he caught a glimpse of her amidst blood and battle, bending to pluck a flower and tuck it daintily away before driving the blade of her axe into someone’s skull.
What a woman!
Her hair was..well, you know, and her lips curved like…well, lips. Her eyes lit up when she found something worth looting, and the view behind as she ran was a treat. She treated you as an equal, no matter how many septims you were worth, no matter what you’d done. She was beautiful.
He’d find other ways to show her what he was thinking. Maybe daisies. Girls liked flowers, didn’t they?
No, no words for Farkas. That sort of thing was best left to his brother.