"Non, I cannot move any of it." He frowns harder when Barrow's hand comes so near his face, clenched teeth briefly bared. Up close, there is sweat on his brow despite the cool day, a sickly pallor beneath the spray of dark freckles across his cheeks. "I do not think I have toes, anymore."

The glare persists at Rowena's approach. "Soon I will be dead because I am a fool who trusted the Dread Wolf himself and now they will not need to plant a tree on my grave."