After the rather exhausting ordeal of the morning, Micah found himself settled once again, though this time in a far more composed and presentable state. He had been carefully dressed, his clothes arranged with meticulous attention, and his long silver hair had been combed until it fell smoothly down his back, soft and gleaming like threads of moonlight.
He was seated upon a finely carved wooden chair near the window, its surface polished to a quiet sheen. Beneath him, Clyde had thoughtfully placed an additional cushion, soft, slightly raised, and clearly intended to ease the lingering discomfort that Micah stubbornly refused to acknowledge aloud. The gesture had been carried out without ceremony, yet it spoke volumes.
Micah did not comment on it.
