Arthur hadn't bathed since the incident at the cave.
Actually, he was surprised that Isa didn't chase him out of the kitchen earlier. He supposed she must have been too preoccupied with her own thoughts to notice just how grimy he was. The dried sweat, the scent of smoke still clinging to his clothes—he was sure he looked as rough as he felt.
As he made his way upstairs, he rolled his shoulders, wincing at the stiffness that had settled into his muscles. His body ached in that dull, lingering way that came after days of strain. He hadn't given himself much time to rest since leaving the cave.
The wooden steps creaked beneath his weight, the familiar sound oddly grounding. His boots felt heavier with each step, as if exhaustion had seeped into them as well. When he reached the landing, he hesitated for a moment before pushing open the door to his room.
