Rubbing; verb; usually a sign of confusion when done to the hair.
And Sylvester did precisely that when the scribe called his name out with so much confidence that it made him question his own intelligence.
Felix's jaw fell, Sir Dolorem sat up in the back, and Gabriel nearly fell from his horse. They had tried their best not to be recognized, and yet, here they were directly being called out.
They all looked at each other's faces for a whole minute, silently asking questions about how they were recognized.
Sylvester rubbed his chin and wondered if he should make a run for it. 'How did he know it was me? My eyes were closed, and I had dyed my hair. But trying to push forward now would be suicide; they'd likely have armies in there… but-'
