[That sole blue eye flickers at the movement, too accustomed to tracking enemies on the battlefield; he cannot school his own response to the approach. He keeps his sight low, an eclipsed view of Byleth's figure—just the lower portion of his body, darkly clothed, coat fluttering with the wind. Byleth hasn't changed at all. He has not even aged a day.
It causes Dimitri to be too aware of his own appearance, filthy and dour, a certain contrast of memory. It is the first time he's felt any shame for it.]
... You are wasting your attention. [Quiet, rasping speech. It isn't a refusal. As if to clarify this, Dimitri's tensely coiled posture begins to open. His legs stretch out and he lifts his shoulders, though his head reminds bowed, allowing access to the middle of his body. Like a wild animal made momentarily docile. The wound is sliced across his bare chest from the work of a blade, four inches in length, skin puckered red and sore around the seam of flesh.] It will not kill me.
[At least, not quickly. If he does die from his wounds then it will be the goddess' will. Perhaps it would be a mercy to the world at large. They already believe he is dead.
He considers asking Byleth what his goals are, but the question dies in his mind, fading with fatigue and apathy. He is simply silent.]
no subject
It causes Dimitri to be too aware of his own appearance, filthy and dour, a certain contrast of memory. It is the first time he's felt any shame for it.]
... You are wasting your attention. [Quiet, rasping speech. It isn't a refusal. As if to clarify this, Dimitri's tensely coiled posture begins to open. His legs stretch out and he lifts his shoulders, though his head reminds bowed, allowing access to the middle of his body. Like a wild animal made momentarily docile. The wound is sliced across his bare chest from the work of a blade, four inches in length, skin puckered red and sore around the seam of flesh.] It will not kill me.
[At least, not quickly. If he does die from his wounds then it will be the goddess' will. Perhaps it would be a mercy to the world at large. They already believe he is dead.
He considers asking Byleth what his goals are, but the question dies in his mind, fading with fatigue and apathy. He is simply silent.]