"Thank you," she said.
I looked up to see her green eyes lined with tears.
"It's nothing", I replied in norwegian as I turned her collar up against the rain. Lina looked like she'd been in the wars, her bottom lip trembling and her brow furrowed. I pulled myself closer to her and wraped my jacket around hers. I rested my forehead on her forehard and held her until she stopped shaking.
Lina had this beautiful white woolen sweater. I swear they must've killed the prettiest lamb in Norway to make it or something. And the way she wore it was just marvelous. She moved like a dancer with this playful grace but also a coiled energy. The sweater hung on her shoulders just perfectly to give the most nonchalent suggestion of her lithe body underneath but also emanated an irressitable warm cosyness; I guess it was norwegian after all.
Holding her tightly, I look down to see the white sweater now stained from the dirt and the rain. It had turned a damp grey with streaks of mud criss crossing it like claw marks.
"It's going to be ok", I said.
"No it's not", she retorts, shaking her head and burying it into my chest.