The line of Dhruv’s spine relaxed when Aoren laughed and shrewd eyes moved between the powerful men when they briefly switched to Kathenor. It was a language Dhruv recognized but did not know. When the red dragon stepped out from temple’s archway and was swallowed by shadow, his eyes widened.
“Does he travel that way often?” It was a question gently applied in response to the faint unease he sensed from Talon. For a long minute, he stood at the Lightbringer’s side, staring down the darkness.
At length, he nodded and made an eloquent gesture with for Talon to lead the way. An absent tug was given his shirtsleeves even as he fell into unthinking step to Talon’s left and a glance behind.
“I’ll have to borrow,” he confessed what he suspected Talon already knew to be true, a wry twist taking his mouth. “I haven’t got anything else.”
Maybe that touch of madness in Dhruv went deeper than was necessarily safe. He seemed perfectly comfortable with the fact that he was walking with Arcas himself through the divine’s own temple, unintimidated though not unimpressed by the sheer presence of his companions so far.
The reaving rune emblazoned on his back itched, almost eager, and Dhruv was more than ready to feel the wind in his teeth. A good fight might empty him and allow for a full and restful sleep as that he’d been denied since unceremoniously shoved into a sewer. It was how he thought of his arrival in this time, when he thought of it all. It was easier to focus on the present than it was to think too hard about the past. It was all still elusive, jumped and disordered, but also a gaping wound, too painful to touch. He knew he must hold it, hold all of it, so sharpened his focus and compartmentalized all of those jagged edges so he didn’t have to think his way through them.