The temperature change alone was enough to make Cherion's head spin. Or maybe that was just the leftover dizziness from being carried across camp like a sack of rice with opinions. Zarius set him down way more gently than expected, his hands lingering on Cherion's elbows just long enough to make sure he didn't immediately collapse like a newborn deer, before stepping back into the shadows.
Cherion immediately began fussing with his tunic, tugging at the hem and smoothing out non-existent wrinkles with a frantic, bird-like energy. His face was burning, a bright flush climbing his cheekbones that had absolutely nothing to do with the Hearth Stones and everything to do with the fact that half the Northern army had just watched their Duke carry him like that.
