Finn's lips curled downward the moment he saw what Silvara had brought. The clothes looked like they belonged to some back-alley street peasant. Casual wear for the lowest of the low.
The shirt was plain white linen—loose, long-sleeved, wrinkled, and laced poorly at the collar. The trousers were rough brown fabric, baggy and tied with a pathetic cord at the waist. The whole outfit looked like a medieval "homeless chic" disaster. And to top it off, they weren't even his size.
Finn looked up at Silvara, who wore the faintest, almost invisible smirk. Just enough to let him know she'd picked these out on purpose.
'Damn her…'
She then pulled out a pair of ragged brown boots that looked one good stomp away from falling apart completely. The sight stabbed Finn right in his already fragile heart.
Theron noticed his expression. "I see your concern," he said sincerely. "But worry not. Once we arrive in the capital, you'll be properly outfitted."
