“Understandable,” Stephen says. “It’s a lot of information.” And it’s an inadvertent treasure trove, getting to look over such detailed commentary on — as he well-knows — one of the oldest shards, one of the longest-held anchors.
He automatically flexes the fingers in his left hand, an unconscious flicker of sympathetic instinct from her notes. He’s so accustomed to the nerve damage in his own fingers that he’d never really paid much attention to the pain from the shard: it’s just another litany to add to the chorus, another discordant note amongst the whole.
“Did you ever find something reliable to help with the pain?” he asks, attempting to sound offhand, but his attention kept snaring on those particular records. “Those trips to the mage. Although I imagine not much helps since, well, nothing much touches this,” he gives a gesture of his hand, flourishing his wrecked knuckles alongside that embedded green sliver. They both suck. It’s all bad.
no subject
He automatically flexes the fingers in his left hand, an unconscious flicker of sympathetic instinct from her notes. He’s so accustomed to the nerve damage in his own fingers that he’d never really paid much attention to the pain from the shard: it’s just another litany to add to the chorus, another discordant note amongst the whole.
“Did you ever find something reliable to help with the pain?” he asks, attempting to sound offhand, but his attention kept snaring on those particular records. “Those trips to the mage. Although I imagine not much helps since, well, nothing much touches this,” he gives a gesture of his hand, flourishing his wrecked knuckles alongside that embedded green sliver. They both suck. It’s all bad.