He was breathing still when the witch stepped away. Black veins had made themselves apparent in her face and around her eyes especially. They snaked down her neck and disappeared into her clothes. She seemed drained. Marion felt a vague aura of dread from the witch as she skulked away, head bowed as she left the elf to their silent vigil. Eris was breathing, but the scales hadn’t subsided. Nor had his claws shrunk back into his fingers.
The elf was fearful as they truly took in the vision of Eris before them. Even somewhere between dragon and elf, he was regal. He was regal in the way a hunting tiger was, as if he might pounce at any moment. He wasn’t going to pounce, he couldn’t. He had been laid low by the machinations of a king that Marion had sworn loyalty to once. A certain guilt writhed in their gut, climbing its way up their throat.