#blazingidealist

“Lord Eliwood, if you’ll permit me--sit down at once.”

The tone-shift between demure monk addressing lord and healer addressing stubborn patient was one that Lucius was well-practiced in, though it seemed to take people by surprise the first several times they heard it.

Legault peeled himself off the ground slowly, one hand clapped firmly to his upper arm where the last morph’s blade had neatly sliced a long, thin line. “Your timing is impeccable,” he said, breathing roughly. “One hairsbreadth later, and I’d likely have been common-thief-shish-kebab.”  

He looked around them as if expecting another handful of morphs to pour out of the nearest copse, but this little corner of the woods was silent, the bodies of their opponents sprawled uncomfortably in the leaf litter. Only then did he register the wild pounding of his heart. “That’s a debt I’ll willingly take on. Thank you, Eliwood.”