Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-25808351-20180615005427/@comment-30014014-20180620204153

The young man had one of his hand holding the burnt flesh of his scorched limb when he stopped, for Tirush had made herself visible and unmistakable to Prad.

His first movement, veil the blackened limb he bears under his shroud, his eyes fleeting to the ground, followed by his head. His free hand, however slowly takes hold of his canteen first, to fold it in his bag, followed by the block of ice. At both acts, his moving limb trembled ever so subtly, making sure to avoid contact, be is visual or physical with the dragoness standing before him.

"Thank you..." he whispers, his voice laced not with fear, not with anger joy or surprise. His fleeting symlab is tainted with disbelief carried by the way he walks back to his log, almost like the world around him doesn't exist.

Hidden from sight, his uninjured hand carries the block of ice to his scorched hand, quietly whimpering as the cold made contact with his flesh. He tries masking his visage with the shroud, unaware that the pain he bears his visible for anyone with a sharp gaze.