[He's sitting there, hand on his chest where the glaive was, but -- well, there's nothing there. Just the criss-crossed scars, that were always there. (a red eye off to the side of his chest, hidden by the shirt.)
He pulls his hand away, looks at it, and then sighs out - slinging the arm around harrow's shoulders instead.]
I'm all right. Is it wrong to say I've seen it enough now that it's just-- [ . . . Just blood.] Doesn't matter.
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He pulls his hand away, looks at it, and then sighs out - slinging the arm around harrow's shoulders instead.]
I'm all right. Is it wrong to say I've seen it enough now that it's just-- [ . . . Just blood.] Doesn't matter.
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[She doesn't resist the arm at all, leaning against him, completely worn.]
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[huff.]
Shouldn't have tried to take him head on. Not with just the five of us.
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