Berwyn

Rash. Quick. Uncoordinated. Live life fast, and live it well. If Berwyn roamed the world like a man possessed - like a man hexed - it was because to him, he was. Restlessness itched beneath his skin like an infection and running was the only relief. Like dock to a nettle. (Or scratching until you bled, satisfaction mingling with distaste and horror in equal measures.) (He'd tried it all before.)

He was not taking well to staying put due to injuries, one might say. Andros was already too close. Already making him feel like he had to move. (It's better that way). She seemed set on helping him heal, as the less injured.

He had to admit his leg felt funny. Numb, yet tingling, shooting pain all the way up to the socket.

Still. He didn't like it.

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