[center][color=#b3ccff][h2]Esben Mathiassen[/h2][/color][/center]
[hr]

As the others started to rapidly devote themselves back to the combined arts of planning and conversation, Esben—who was rapidly beginning to feel once more the effects of the climate atop his injuries—coughed, a small globule of half-congealed blood landing in the sand at his feet as his nose began to bleed once more. He felt at it gingerly; broken, it had to be, Éliane wasn't just pulling his leg and trying to keep him out of the front by [i]telling[/i] him it was.

And between a throat still raw and the break itself, attempting to force the dry desert air through his airway ruined the slight reprieve their underground escapade had given him.

[color=#b3ccff]"Right now, we won't lead anybody anywhere,"[/color] he mumbled, feeling the Dame Commander's eyes upon him. Carefully so as not to set his head to moving too quickly lest the light and everything else conspire to make him lose his breakfast as well as his blood, he sat down on the sand, before leaning back to sprawl out entirely while Eve hunted down the rest of their train.

[color=#b3ccff]"I just need to rest...[sub]for a moment..."[/sub][/color]