10.Apr.14, 09:14 PM
S'cer was not good at maintaining eye contact; the residual fear of irritating someone of higher rank was still there despite his Impressing, and would likely never be fully left behind. At least, he would blame his inability to give T'lian his undivided attention on that if pressed. He kept getting distracted by the graceful dip of T'lian's collarbone, or the movement of the healer's shoulders as he rinsed his hands, and upon catching himself looking, S'cer couldn't help but feel ashamed.
Frowning to himself, S'cer dragged a damp hand through his hair, nails digging into his scalp, and shook his head as if to clear it. It wasn't that he hadn't considered it--T'lian might not have been a prime example of a dragonrider, but S'cer revered him for his capabilities as a healer first and foremost. One didn't have to be a muscular man to be a healer, necessarily, and T'lian's fearsome intellect made up for whatever he lacked physically. S'cer was equal parts awed and jealous of T'lian's success as a Crafter for one so young, and together this resulted in a sort of hero worship that he would never, ever admit to.
You are ridiculous, S'cer, Quelseth commented rather matter-of-factly. He must like you as well, else he wouldn't be here.
S'cer flushed red to his ears, glad that Quelseth had spoken to him alone lest he die of embarrassment, and cleared his throat. "That sounds... bloody," he said, and shook his head. I am a crack-brained wherry! "Er, I imagine that required some stitching?" He passed over the sweetsand before darting a look at the open door to his hut. "I might have a shirt you could borrow. Might be a little too big for you, but at least you wouldn't be running around half-naked in this rain."
Frowning to himself, S'cer dragged a damp hand through his hair, nails digging into his scalp, and shook his head as if to clear it. It wasn't that he hadn't considered it--T'lian might not have been a prime example of a dragonrider, but S'cer revered him for his capabilities as a healer first and foremost. One didn't have to be a muscular man to be a healer, necessarily, and T'lian's fearsome intellect made up for whatever he lacked physically. S'cer was equal parts awed and jealous of T'lian's success as a Crafter for one so young, and together this resulted in a sort of hero worship that he would never, ever admit to.
S'cer flushed red to his ears, glad that Quelseth had spoken to him alone lest he die of embarrassment, and cleared his throat. "That sounds... bloody," he said, and shook his head. I am a crack-brained wherry! "Er, I imagine that required some stitching?" He passed over the sweetsand before darting a look at the open door to his hut. "I might have a shirt you could borrow. Might be a little too big for you, but at least you wouldn't be running around half-naked in this rain."