Two Eyes Cenote gods of the arena

he is sullen and surly.

he does not mean to be towards the healer, who looms in the doorway, hushed voice issuing a command for him.

good eye slices towards her over his shoulder as his pacing stops, shoulders steeled.

i am no use at healing, comes the mazoi's truthful grumble as a reminder; letting his mind travel where it may even as he turns to follow dutifully after her.