Through the transparent walls, one could see Philarx's footsteps unconsciously quickening, yet his walk was unsteady as if he might fall at any moment. Were it not for Felic occasionally steadying him, it seemed he could topple over at any time. Pannis closed his eyes and let out a gentle sigh, unable to bear the sight of the old man walking a few more meters and headed to meet him at the entrance to the dining room.
"Snap," as soon as he opened the door to the dining room, Philarx saw Pannis standing at the doorway. Before Pannis could speak, Philarx reached out and grabbed his wrist. The old man's hand was coarse and ice-cold, rubbing Pannis's skin on his wrist like there was a layer of sand in between; even through the physical contact, one could feel the protrusions of the bones, and the fingers holding the wrist had no strength, loose and flaccid, it was more like resting on Pannis's wrist rather than holding it.
