The walk back to the scullery was a wet, squelching parade of misery.
Ren led the way, her messy red hair plastered to her skull and her red puffer coat dripping swamp water onto the pristine stone floors. Syris walked beside her, radiating a level of irritation that was almost palpable. His heavy robes were soaked, clinging to his skin, and his hair—usually a sleek curtain of midnight black—hung in wet, sad clumps around his face, framing his amethyst eyes which narrowed with every squelch of his bare feet.
"I feel like a drowned rat," Syris hissed, shaking his sleeve.
Kael prowled down the corridor, looking less like a King and more like a Calvin Klein model. Syris had provided a loincloth, but evidently, snake beastmen were generally... slimmer.
