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His clothes are damp. They cling to his skin as a slow, miserable chill crawls up his skin. His eyes promise murder to the man who pushed him into the water, but they find themselves tempered when all they see is that beautiful woman from that festival night. His lips part to call out in surprise, but he stops just short when that image disperses. Across the fire, the small, dark-haired man that pushed him in the water stares back. He wonders if the other has a sister. Maybe, perhaps— that lady?

...Or maybe it's just his mind latching onto anything remotely similar to that lady. He notes the man's teal eyes. They're just like hers. That must be why he nearly saw her.

Human hearts are truly bothersome in that way.

He closes his eyes and leans toward the fire. The heat eats uncomfortably at his face, but he's too much like a wet dog to care.