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His body seemed to not be sure, if he had understood the level of his own stress, so it used all it's tricks to communicate that. From flashes of painful heat to the stirring of bowels, he hunched, practically naked, if one didn't count the small bathing cloth.

In his mind Vatnir was mostly cursing. But there was someone in almost equal distress as him. Brenice's cheekbones were more prominent from clenching her teeth. She tried to cover up turmoil with straight posture, but eyes betrayed her. The excuses to be still in changing room was ending.

Glamfellen usually laughed on the vanity of others with all might of his half-useless lungs. When the end come, they all will look practically like him, insects and rodents eating their flesh away on the bottom of the mass grave, that is Eora. Did Ydwin's frills and laces saved her from Rymrgand?

But in case of his lover godlike was unable even to smirk because of that. There was no satisfaction in witnessing her discomfort.

Vatnir touched lightly Watcher's forearm:

-You don't have to worry about them, Duskspeaker.

-And why's that? - Brenice raised her eyebrow, still visibly nervous.

-Because you're not the one they will look at – he said, pulling aside bandages from his face.