Griff looks up. “Who was it, who beat you? The same ones from last night?” So we’re talking about it. Idiots must have reminded him. There seems no point denying anything now, not after what he saw happening in the hall. I’m pretty sure I still smell like wet dog. “Seanan’s friends? Probably.” Griff’s eyes narrow. “What does that mean, probably?” “It means they put a bag over my head.” Griff whistles. He rubs the ink-stained crease between his brows again. “Because you’re my damsel?” The translation he’s gone for in Dragontongue is so ridiculous, it puts me past cringing to snorting aloud.
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