"It is not even the lack of sight; it is the darkness that seems to have swallowed me whole," Ghatotkacha complained. "I lay awake all night even though it feels as if I am sleeping."
The words dripped with a mocking of his own state, but the fear and suffering were plain in his voice. Ghatotkacha's eyes were still wrapped in clean, white bandages, and a sling hung across his bare chest, holding up his left arm. He was sitting on his bed, his room lit with many lanterns, but that would matter little to the injured knight, Lord Abhiram surmised. Ghatotkacha's ever-sharp line of beard was unusually scruffy, and despite his typical arrogance, he was a broken man if Abhiram ever saw one. He had seen many battle-scarred heroes who had suffered worse, but something in that battle had shattered the pride of that knight into pieces.
