He was striving for innocuous unsuccessfully at the moment what with constant drip, drip, drip, down the back of his collare like slow water torture from the tromba delle scale above.
Still, it was an excellent vantage point for strada, via level. That is so long as he continued to crouch just below sight lines. He flexed fatigued thigh muscles cracking his spine for good measure and felt some semblance of relief in the movement.
Damp leather gloves adjusted his collare as he hissed feeling the pull of the impromptu patchwork quilt Merlin had done closing the wound on his forearm just hours before; would have...
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