Dryath wore the wretched hood as he followed Jormoly and Genthry out into the street. He’d resented the thing before, hating how it blocked a good part of his peripheral vision and overheated him. Right now, he could only appreciate the way it hid his face from everyone. It wasn’t that he didn’t want strangers to see his face. He didn’t want Genthry to see how much this moment affected him.
On one hand, Genthry had been willing to entertain the idea of coming back to the interior, even sacrificing his hard-won freedom to be with Dryath. He’d been willing to discuss that possibility, knowing what Dryath did for a living and knowing what it meant and after everything he’d experienced in his life.
On the other, it was all well and good to discuss a potential future that could never happen.
