[ He is exceptionally drunk by then. Having been forced to return all the supplies he'd borrowed, after letting Wash walk him away from the immediate danger, after spending a day staring at the glow on the horizon, mourning the lives of his people. And cursing himself. Cursing himself for being here, cursing himself for being unable to do anything ...
And now, he sits at the fire, eyes dull. He has a knife in one hand. The same he'd stabbed Tarn with, the same he keeps on him on all times. He's alternately taking swigs of mead - and cutting off small bits of his hair, tossing each lock into the fire one at a time. ]
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And now, he sits at the fire, eyes dull. He has a knife in one hand. The same he'd stabbed Tarn with, the same he keeps on him on all times. He's alternately taking swigs of mead - and cutting off small bits of his hair, tossing each lock into the fire one at a time. ]