Now back to Gon, The kitchen air hung thick with the lingering scent of sweat and exertion, a faint musk mingling with the sharp tang of spilled ale on the wooden floorboards.
Gon leaned against the edge of the sturdy oak table, his chest rising and falling in uneven, labored breaths.
His dark hair clung damply to his forehead, strands plastered by the heat of the moment, and his limbs felt heavy, as though the weight of the day had finally settled into his bones.
Outside, the wind howled faintly, a low moan that rattled the loose shutters against the stone walls of the keep.
Rain pattered intermittently against the glass, a soft, irregular drumbeat that matched the sluggish thud of his pulse.
He glanced down at the maid, her figure slumped against the table's edge, her hands trembling as they gripped the worn wood for support.
