I promised myself, then and there, that I would never let a single barb leave my mouth about his body. Not one joke, not one angry, waspish jab when he inevitably did something to piss me off. It didn't matter how many people he'd killed or how selfish he was. Campsite rules: always leave a place better than you found it.

Eyes still closed, obvious stress in every line of his body, Dain shrugged out of his jacket, lowering his wing-arms and rolling his shoulders to drop the black cloth down along his arms, then shook it out, holding it in one wing-hand. Underneath he wore a sleeveless dark gray shirt with a high collar, showing sweat on it. He had black scales on the outside of his arms, smooth and gleaming, the insides of his arms pale skin, and unsurprisingly for a man who fought with a sword, his arms were strong.

He opened his eyes, saw me looking, and clenched his teeth. With what looked like a force of will, he relaxed, his shoulders lowering and wing-arms coming down out of their tightly drawn-in position. "Is your skin 'creeping'?" he asked.

"I can't see your back—don't show me!" I cried, aghast, as he rotated on one foot to show me his glamored back. It was like seeing one of those creepypasta illustrations, totally uncanny valley and unpleasant. Dain's back wasn't supposed to be smooth. His shirt should have been creased over the top of ridges, with long black spikes jutting out over each vertebra. Seeing it otherwise made me shudder.

"Put it awaayyyy," I wailed, covering my eyes with my hands.

I heard Dain laugh, a rich sound, and knew he'd turned precisely to horrify me. Whether it was to see my reaction or to verify that I could still tell when he was glamored, I wasn't sure, but he sounded more at ease than I'd heard before. Next to me, I heard the rustling of grass, and the heavier sounds of him getting on the ground.

"How about now?" he asked.

"Dare I look?" I said, putting dread into the words.

"My back is touching the ground," Dain said, sounding amused.

I turned my head towards his voice and peeked through my fingers. He looked back at me with an arch expression, both eyebrows raised, and flicked his ear as a small insect tried to investigate him. Slowly, I lowered my hands, and swept my eyes down along his body. Dain had his hands resting on top of his abs, and his wing-arms in a relaxed sprawl, the one closest to me arcing over my head. I could have reached up and high-fived him without any effort.

"Weird, but not creepy," I informed him. "My brain is busily giving my question marks about how you managed to impale yourself into the ground, but since I can't actually see that your spikes are missing, I'm not uncomfortable."