"I see Valerian brought out Severin for you," Dreyfus observes once we are far enough off from the others that the clash and clang of swords is but a distant breath on the wind and the nervous buzz of adrenaline has already started to beat in my heart. By the looks of things, Alastor is having his ass royally handed to him by Valerian, yet Val appears to hardly be breaking a sweat. Part of me wonders whether Valerian might be going easy on him on purpose.
Meanwhile, I muse to myself, wiping off the palms of my hands on my trousers. I am over here sweating buckets worrying about a fight with a man who is notorious for showing no leniencies. Whatever hardships Alastor is facing right now, I think I would much rather be facing that.
