Aleifr draws himself up from the ground. Ordinarily, despite his size, there is a certain fluidity to the way that he carries himself, but now he moves as though his limbs are leaden.

Perhaps that ponderous, lumbering slowness is due to the bruises that bloom into view as he walks towards the front of the cell, revealed by the shadows that peel back with each closing step ... but, no. Aleifr has seen worse abuse than this and bore it with greater ease.

More telling is the expression that he wears. The soft, mournful cast to his features couldn't be further from the stoic, impassive scowl that usually resided there.

He comes to a stop on the other side of the cell door.

"I wouldn't turn my back on someone who would do this for me."