Herbalists' Cache i who have always been unbecoming am becoming un

PERFECT

it turns out he does not need to wait. he is on his back and there are teeth at his throat, no pain but the staccato beat of his pulse, the hitch of his breath. oh, this. this is something he missed. a laugh bubbles out of him, a strangely disappointed melody as he feels those threatpoints slip away, despite samothes making no attempt at escape or conflict. "you could do it," he says, voice coming out a ragged whisper, goading, "no one would notice." no one would miss him -- he is unbound, untethered, unknown amongst the northerners, without family, without lover. how easy could it be if only he was so inclined.