Black Morass timor

mírwen received an amused snort, or perhaps one of pain only turned in her direction. with great effort germanicus shoved aside the anguish lancing through his shoulders. he had been injured a dozen times before. he had suffered great wounds and been forced to drag himself to safety across a battlefield churned to bloodied mud. fever he had suffered, the setting of bones with no more remedy for pain than clenching teeth upon a branch.

how odd then, to be so tormented by what equated to a handful of flesh wounds.

"palaces draw politics, politics draw attacks on pharaoh herself. i was there to intervene, though her guardians would have torn him to ruins even if i had not been present."

the eagle's voice was a monotone to keep the strain away.