Shimmering Sands the hawser rolls, the vessel’s whole and christ, it’s thin

Perhaps, if Ford had any sympathy in his body, he would have felt a pang of it for his brother in his moment of dramatic display. Unfortunately, he was incapable of feeling any such things – sympathy, empathy, or otherwise – and it was clear by the gruff expression on his face, as well as the distrustful narrowing of his brows. The titan was not an idiot. He knew well enough of Rannveig's games and sick pleasures. Just as his brother had spent the first two years of their life learning how to be a nuisance, Ford had learned just what the jester was capable of.

So, when he lurched forward with a gurgled sound, the warhound was quick to make as much space as possible between them. He bounded on lengthy limbs until he felt as though he was safe enough to turn around. Thankfully, he had given himself enough space so that the stream of piss that shot from his brother was incapable of reaching him. His lip curled in mock disgust and he drew his head upward to scoff.