Next came his hair, which, when he looked at himself in the glass, he was dismayed to realise was not only bent out of shape from having been slept in wet, but fluffy. Muttering curses under his breath—for all that he didn’t care for General Naza’s opinion of him, it was nonetheless embarrassing to have been interviewed in such a state—he dragged a brush through it, fished around for some ribbons and a wooden hairpin on the dresser, and pinned it away in an upcoiled braid.
