[ Jaime feels like a child, being held at his arm as he gets to his feet, but he does his best not to pay too much attention to the crippling sense of shame that it evokes. At least he's back up. His hair is dripping blood, and there's blood in his beard, and he's sure his clothes are unsalvageable, but this is probably better than being dead.
He feels at his neck with his flesh hand, frowning. It'll bruise, for sure. ]
No... no, it won't be worth it. [ The chasing, that is. Jaime sheathes his sword again, looking back where they came from. He runs his fingers through his hair to hold it back; the blood being sticky enough to keep it neat ought to be disgusting, but he's accepted he won't get to clean it off until morning comes, anyway. ]
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He feels at his neck with his flesh hand, frowning. It'll bruise, for sure. ]
No... no, it won't be worth it. [ The chasing, that is. Jaime sheathes his sword again, looking back where they came from. He runs his fingers through his hair to hold it back; the blood being sticky enough to keep it neat ought to be disgusting, but he's accepted he won't get to clean it off until morning comes, anyway. ]
Did they take anything?
[ He didn't really notice. ]