Cullen goes down on his knees to bend forward and get a better chance to scrub. He submerges his head, blowing air from his nose to keep the water out, and works his fingers through thick curls until he feels all of the slime releasing and washing away. He comes up gasping and squeezing excess water from his hair.
He already feels about twice as awake as he was before. This was a good idea no matter what Dorian says about salt water. "That sounds glorious. I'd love to stretch out on something like that and never think about moving again." It's not true. The inactivity would drive him mad within an hour. It's just the thought of having somewhere hot to lie while drying that has appeal.
He sits directly in the surf to let the waves clean the rest of him without much effort. The foam curls around his neck and chin, hissing on each retreat. If it weren't for the fact that he knows night predators hug the shore, he'd be tempted for a small swim. Instead he gets in a little more scrubbing, using a handful of sand to get any stubborn spots of ichor, and rinses that away, too.
He stands and retreats back to the shore, using the blades of his hands to sluice himself. He's too Fereldan to find this cold. He finds a flat rock of his own not too far from Dorian's to let himself dry. "I feel like a new man." It's amazing what a quick dunk in salt water can do. Out here away from the foundries, the air just smells salty and faintly fishy, no pollution, no sewage, nothing rotting. He draws in a deep inhale and relaxes back on a hand. He hasn't forgotten their losses or defeats. Like most soldiers, he has developed skills of compartmentalization. He can tuck that away for a time in favor of a quiet moment.
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He already feels about twice as awake as he was before. This was a good idea no matter what Dorian says about salt water. "That sounds glorious. I'd love to stretch out on something like that and never think about moving again." It's not true. The inactivity would drive him mad within an hour. It's just the thought of having somewhere hot to lie while drying that has appeal.
He sits directly in the surf to let the waves clean the rest of him without much effort. The foam curls around his neck and chin, hissing on each retreat. If it weren't for the fact that he knows night predators hug the shore, he'd be tempted for a small swim. Instead he gets in a little more scrubbing, using a handful of sand to get any stubborn spots of ichor, and rinses that away, too.
He stands and retreats back to the shore, using the blades of his hands to sluice himself. He's too Fereldan to find this cold. He finds a flat rock of his own not too far from Dorian's to let himself dry. "I feel like a new man." It's amazing what a quick dunk in salt water can do. Out here away from the foundries, the air just smells salty and faintly fishy, no pollution, no sewage, nothing rotting. He draws in a deep inhale and relaxes back on a hand. He hasn't forgotten their losses or defeats. Like most soldiers, he has developed skills of compartmentalization. He can tuck that away for a time in favor of a quiet moment.