Mar 11, 2020
silas is numb to the ambrosia-induced fever, the needling of cartilage and bone working to repair itself; blood still crusts his nostrils and upper lip, drying brown. a single swipe of his thumb has removed some of what’s dripped onto his chin, but he remains unconcerned, a familiarity to it that renders him unable to form a reaction stronger than mild annoyance, sparing only a brief glance upwards before returning focus to his feet. “ i didn’t do anything, ” he says, tone stiff, stuffy from the blood, “ so don’t look at me like that. ” @sabertiger.
