Eerikki groans pushing the hand away. The slave girl hesitated with the washcloth inches from his face with the foul-smelling liquid that Vor had concocted. He was certain she made it smell just out of spite, she always did that, placed spites throughout his day.
The woman before him said nothing, he could hear her heart thundering, avoiding his gaze, fingers steady as she wrung the cloth nodding her head understanding. She waited for him to give her another order, for he had never dismissed her. The silence thick, his mind racing thinking of the last few weeks.