[francel hesitates a moment, but in the end he pulls his hand away from zephirin's, and then pulls his gauntlets off. he dutifully removes his chainmail shirt, placing it gently on the airship's floor. the plain black tunic he wears beneath is also removed.
it does not snow in the sea of clouds as it does in ishgard, but the air is no less cold. francel tries to hide his shivering. at six fulms seven ilms, francel is not the most petite member of the ward — that title belongs to ser adelphel — but his build seems rather fragile. he has the muscle of someone who has difficulty building muscle: his swordplay is another thing entirely.
francel's shoulder bears an ugly bruise slowly turning purple, and from the way he handles himself, it must hurt him every time he moves it. marks on his torso are also mottled red-blue, but he isn't injured past his bruises and bumps. he's mostly fine.
he didn't have to yield to lucia and estinien so early, and he knows it.]
...You need not send for Ser Haumeric. This is... this is nothing.
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it does not snow in the sea of clouds as it does in ishgard, but the air is no less cold. francel tries to hide his shivering. at six fulms seven ilms, francel is not the most petite member of the ward — that title belongs to ser adelphel — but his build seems rather fragile. he has the muscle of someone who has difficulty building muscle: his swordplay is another thing entirely.
francel's shoulder bears an ugly bruise slowly turning purple, and from the way he handles himself, it must hurt him every time he moves it. marks on his torso are also mottled red-blue, but he isn't injured past his bruises and bumps. he's mostly fine.
he didn't have to yield to lucia and estinien so early, and he knows it.]
...You need not send for Ser Haumeric. This is... this is nothing.