The Written Word

His chair might not have been comfortable, but Ruth lounged as best he could, even pushing the seat's balance to the limit by leaning back for Faelyn to appreciate. His shirt, still missing, was not high on Ruth’s agenda. His nerves thrummed still, the contented feeling simultaneously electrified and placid at the same time. Amusement slowly spread across his face with Fae’s momentary indecision and search for his own pants. Azure eyes observed the shift of muscle. The grin of smugness across the healer's face tempered some, but a new craving itched.

Faelyn’s words had him answer with a quiet chuckle, hands finding a pouch of tobacco and papers for rolling. Grounding the seat, he’d lean forward, attention set on his task until the archivist’s question. His smile was slight, shoulders bobbed with indifference. “I do. Though I struggle, finding capable opponents. You asking to be punished further?”