It had been four days since then, so the wound was mostly healed. Mostly, because Necromancers weren't trained as healers. The wound itself was gone, but there would always be a scar. An ugly scar. An ugly scar that hurt when Craven pulled at it, marking the location of a gunshot injury that still - still - hummed with pain far too often for his liking.
Craven would always have to be careful with that shoulder now. It wasn't as if he needed to give up any real strenuous activity, but still. He held a grudge.
Which was why, when he heard about Solomon Wreath's reaction to what should have been a traumatising event, Craven saw red. The High Priest was furious, as well, but where Tenebrae seemed to have given up trying to drag anything out of Wreath, Craven wanted nothing more than to see the broken, crumpled, and bleeding form of the former Necromancer for himself. Wreath shouldn't just be hurting right now; he should be close to death and psychologically scarred. He should not be finding anything amusing.
And yet, somehow, he was.
Ironic, given that he was currently curled around a teddy bear.
Craven stood in the doorway, an immovable object regarding Wreath with a critical eye. Wreath's own eyes were bandaged, unfortunately. Craven stepped forward to try and better see, but there was nothing more noteworthy to see. More bandaged injuries. Otherwise, Wreath may well have been sleeping.
There was nothing else for it. "Why on earth were you smiling?"
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It had been four days since then, so the wound was mostly healed. Mostly, because Necromancers weren't trained as healers. The wound itself was gone, but there would always be a scar. An ugly scar. An ugly scar that hurt when Craven pulled at it, marking the location of a gunshot injury that still - still - hummed with pain far too often for his liking.
Craven would always have to be careful with that shoulder now. It wasn't as if he needed to give up any real strenuous activity, but still. He held a grudge.
Which was why, when he heard about Solomon Wreath's reaction to what should have been a traumatising event, Craven saw red. The High Priest was furious, as well, but where Tenebrae seemed to have given up trying to drag anything out of Wreath, Craven wanted nothing more than to see the broken, crumpled, and bleeding form of the former Necromancer for himself. Wreath shouldn't just be hurting right now; he should be close to death and psychologically scarred. He should not be finding anything amusing.
And yet, somehow, he was.
Ironic, given that he was currently curled around a teddy bear.
Craven stood in the doorway, an immovable object regarding Wreath with a critical eye. Wreath's own eyes were bandaged, unfortunately. Craven stepped forward to try and better see, but there was nothing more noteworthy to see. More bandaged injuries. Otherwise, Wreath may well have been sleeping.
There was nothing else for it. "Why on earth were you smiling?"