He follows after her eagerly, almost like a puppy with a new mistress, and feels a bit of the thrill of that as he goes. She pushes him to sit and he obeys but draws her down with him, into his arms before he lays back down. Wrapping her in a hug and taking her down with him, damp hair fanning across his neck and chest in the process.

She has magic, he reasons airily, she can pull the covers up without use of her arms, right?

If not, he will merrily wind himself around her and act as a blanket.

"Thank you," he murmurs, honestly, against the top of her head. Not for the acceptance--though he well appreciates that--but for the patience to tolerate in him something she has already expressed distaste for in others.