Hours later, Kaelor sat in the wooden tub, the heat of the water loosening the fatigue from his limbs as curls of steam swirled gently around him. His short blonde hair clung damply to his scalp, beads of water sliding down his pale, angular face.
They traced the sharp line of his jaw, gathered beneath his chin, then dropped in soft, rhythmic splashes into the tub below, each one echoing faintly in the stillness of the room.
His brown eyes stared into the distance, unfocused and brooding. His thoughts were far from the warmth surrounding him, preoccupied instead with the grim truths Damien had laid bare. Ivory Hill was becoming a calamity. Despite the current measures, offering two sheep a week to appease the beasts and culling those bold enough to stray near the exit, it simply wasn't enough.
The danger was evolving faster than they could react.
