[ unwillingly, thoughts of another flit to the forefront of his mind — damen, attending him morning and night, their familiar, hateful ritual. his fingers had grown quite deft at dismantling veretian attire, and laurent had grown accustomed to his presence so close. having been without for some time now, it's jarring now for aspen to fill that space, his hands smaller, working quicker. laurent does not think of their shared history or consider the formation of any sort of bond, already raw from his forced honesty and unable to abide the thought of such intimacy. ]

I'm going hunting. I've heard the skin of a badaliscus can heal the brand. [ there are scars on his body, but he doesn't like the idea of being marked in this way. aspen sees to the laces along his spine, and then laurent holds out one wrist so he can secure his sleeves. the other he leaves loose, pulling back the fabric so it doesn't touch his wound. ] Just wrap it so it doesn't get in the way. That will be enough.

[ then — ] I had no intention of speaking to you.