Laurent of Vere

When Nicaise was safely tucked beneath his sheets with more wine in his belly than the denizens of Darrow would likely smile upon, Laurent found himself in the hall.

The dragon's wings were long gone, struck from existence by clever cuts of Damen's sword, yet Laurent could not dispel the roar in his ears. It was there whether his eyes were open or closed, it was there beneath the sound of voices and there to crush any silence that might fall. Everywhere he turned, Laurent faced the phantom beat of wings, and each time the sound returned, he felt the earth fall away again as he rose and rose into the sky, clutched within cruel talons that threatened to tear him apart.

Laurent braced his hand against the wall and breathed in, holding it until spots danced before his eyes. Exhaling in a rush, Laurent fled the hall and returned to the living room, where Damen's large, bruised form was laid out atop the chaise. Laurent sat with gentle movements so as not to jostle him, laying his hand against the rise and fall of Damen's chest before he spoke.

'Are you certain I shouldn't summon a healer?'