eyes in the dark

Jorah nodded, his eyes more downcast than they were for all his tromping and singing the long way here. While he agreed she lacked kindness and compassion very quickly, he almost interrupted her when she called herself dishonest. But the shift in her tone was too solemn to intrude on, and his sudden thought ended with but a quick glance up before dropping to the floor again. He listened, feeling the respect in her voice. It came in the form of a softness, a tenderness, like ripe fruit. Her monsters seemed to retreat, and he felt as though he were speaking with a common lady, perhaps one who lived in the woods and hunted, but none too different from one he might meet in a countryside inn or smokehouse.

He stuck his rabbit over the fire as she gestured towards the knife. He looked at it again, and saw the detail in the firelight more clearly. It was stunning - intricately carved in a manner that rivaled the Crow's most ceremonial weapons. He was still entranced by it when she mentioned its story, and he was beginning to feel himself roll in a calmer frame of mind, only to wince. Silent tears broke the corners of his eyes. He looked down again, hoping she wouldn't see, that the rivers would bake off his skin in the heat of the campfire or be obscured by all the dirt and sweat on his face. The tears slid like hot senseless knives, and he confused as the pain of her loss and his own blended together in a muddle.

[color=orange]"It killed him?"[/color] he exclaimed in a knee-jerk reaction, his voice slightly breaking.