"Parade around, says the man who not ten minutes ago was boasting about his looks and grooming. I was letting myself dry off then got distracted. It's not as though I habitually strip down and leave myself swinging to the four winds." He sits down in the sand to brush hard at his feet before pulling on his socks and boots. He doesn't get all of the grit. He gets enough of it that the trek back up to the top won't be onerous.

He doesn't remember the last time he was naked outside. It was a long time ago, had to be on some long-term patrol either here on the Coast or up at Sundermount. Despite his talk of getting back, he stays seated. Down here he doesn't have to see the anxious faces of the people who rely on him so much, their sorrow, their disbelief that things turned so bloody and terrible on what should have been a fairly straightforward raid.

He rubs at the side of his face and sighs. "Sometimes I really want out." He almost can't believe he said it. The words were a weight in his chest, something he has been carrying ever since the courtyard. He feels both lighter in speaking them and guiltier. This isn't Dorian's burden to bear.