we've got to get in to get out

Behind his eyepatch is fury, fire, strength that heeds not frailty and gray pallor, nor the jilting stride of pale, skinny ankle in brusque, yawning boot.

On the hilt of his dagger, nothing but honor revered; the answer to a question that guarded all, because a world full of so many questions left inexorably unanswerable leaves one quite cold, indeed.

Zael is, in some sense, the one earnest compartment to Yurick's stony nature. He is, then again, the softer and more intractable haze about a slim, swift pocket torch reliable as any - a brasier not felled, but ever surely rolling.