Cherion stood in the doorway for a heartbeat, his fingers curled so tightly around the small, lumpy object in his pocket that his knuckles actually ached. Ahead of him, Zarius stood so still he looked less like a person and more like someone who had accidentally pressed the pause button on himself. With his back to the door and his heavy fur cloak billowing like the bruised wing of some ancient, fallen bird, the Duke looked... very majestic. Not just alone, but painfully, terribly distant, as if he were already halfway into the mountain passes where the light couldn't reach.
"You should be inside," Zarius said. He didn't turn. He never had to. It was a recurring frustration for Cherion, the man seemingly had eyes in the back of his head, or perhaps Cherion's nervous breathing had its own recognizable theme song. "The air grows colder with each passing moment."
