Yu descended back into the common room.
Every head turned. Dozens of eyes caught him in an instant, held him, and for a heartbeat he thought he might choke under their collective stare. Oh god, they saw right through him. They saw that he was more fake than them. Yu turned away, angled himself toward the kitchen – escape, work, anything – but the way was blocked.
The borman stood planted before the door. He loomed like a wall, arms tense at his side, staring at whatever lay behind the wood with a heavy, simmering impatience. There was no way past him.
Yu halted.
Nothing happened.
The borman did not notice Yu, and Yu did not want to get closer than his five plus one steps. So there they stood; the borman staring at the door, and Yu staring at the borman, and everyone else at the tables staring at Yu. It was awkward.
“Hey …,” Yu forced sound out of his beak. He realised too late he had forgotten the borman’s name. “Uhm. Borman.”
The beastkin turned, his gaze sinking down onto Yu.
“Well, sorry, I mean, let me through,” Yu spoke like a beggar who halfway through remembered that he could afford a voice. If anything, he should give commands. He was supposed to be a guard. And this was just a borman, after all — well, that was the reason why he was both disgusted and afraid; too low to respect, too brutal to dismiss.
The borman shifted aside, though hardly enough. Far less than five steps. Yu rushed past and into the hallway, keeping his count – one, two, three, four, oh fuck me five – and all the while he felt the beastkin’s restlessness at his back. Six steps took him to the left-hand door. Four more carried him to the sick bay’s threshold. Here, he slowed. Stopped. And with deliberate effort, he pressed the door open.
Despite everything, there was a part of him that actually wanted to see what was wrong with the selder. But his eyes were caught by the shaman first, and for several moments, he could not tear them away.
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