The pain of that loss, it would not allow him to vanish. Even if he tried to dismiss it, the pain was there, heavy and impossible. He could not allow it free of himself. That suffering, it dug in between his ribs as the coldest of daggers.
"My Lord," Verdant said, from at his side. A face cold with expectation. There hardly seemed any love there. Oliver found himself shying away from the man, and the harshness of him. Even the slightest little cold glance now wounded him immensely.
"...Apologies," Oliver said, looking elsewhere, trying to steady his breathing, as once more, the situation ran away from him, along with his own mishealth.
