The Weight of a Borrowed Body
Azriel who left after he was done talking with Henrick, that Azriel who looked and sounded dominating before, was now breathing heavily under a tree.
The night forest had become strangely quiet.
Cold wind drifted between the trees, carrying the smell of damp soil and blood from the battlefield far behind him. Moonlight slipped through gaps in the canopy, scattering silver patches across the ground. Leaves rustled softly overhead, but beneath that calm scenery, another sound existed.
Heavy breathing.
"Haa..."
"Haaa..."
Azriel leaned his back against the rough bark of a giant tree.
His chest rose and fell heavily.
Sweat had already soaked Victor's black shirt underneath the golden jacket. The hand resting on his knee trembled slightly.
