Black Morass timor

‘You stayed.’

A slender shrug was given in response to that—keen eyes studying the man who seemed stiff—her eyes roving over the mud he had caked himself in. Gingerly, she dropped her pitiful squirrel in favor of conversation, though a certain string of stubborn pride almost wanted to hold her silence.

“Just taking in the pretty scenery and mulling over my options,” she replied smoothly, a small smile given, though it did not quite reach her usually laid-back gaze.

More importantly: “What happened?” A nod to his injuries—his stiffness.