It was early morning in the camp when James awoke, feeling a strange weight on his head. The previous night had been uneventful, a rare moment of peace after so many battles. As his eyes fluttered open, he heard a faint giggle in the distance. He squinted and reached up, his fingers brushing something soft in his hair.
"Razek," he muttered, already knowing who was behind it.
Sure enough, as he sat up and stumbled over to a small mirror propped against a tree, he found his dark hair decorated with an assortment of colorful bows, pink, purple, yellow, all tied in perfectly dainty little ribbons. The reflection of his face, complete with tired eyes and an unamused expression, was framed by what could only be described as an explosion of cheeriness.
"Good morning, princess," Razek's gleeful voice chirped from behind a bush.
James sighed and tugged at one of the bows, which seemed impossibly knotted. "Razek, how did you even, "
