Hajin stood before the cracked mirror in their inn room and pulled at the collar of the silk shirt bought that afternoon.
The charcoal-gray fabric looked far better than his dirt-stained adventurer gear, but it pinched across his shoulders whenever he raised his arms.
"I hate this shirt more than I hated the boar," he muttered, tugging at the stiff cuffs with a grimace. "The boar at least had the decency to die!"
"How do nobles breathe inside these walking tents?" he grumbled, rolling his shoulders in vain. "I can't find a single comfortable angle."
Beside him, Juna fought a darker enemy of her own, one woven from expensive silk and formal stitching.
Her deep blue dress fit through the waist and carried a narrow opening tailored for her restless tail.
The fabric suited her slender frame, though the stiff shoulders turned every small movement into a small argument.
