Weariness weighed heavily on Circe's limbs, further draining her after all the magic she had expended since stepping into the cave. Even so, she clung stubbornly to the last fragile morsel of strength she possessed, using it to keep her mother upright. Thalora was in an even worse state than she was, her body slack, her steps unsteady, barely able to move without assistance.
Ragnar's gaze was briefly drawn to the woman Circe supported, and for the first time, he truly took in the otherworldliness of her appearance. His eyes traced the pointed tips of her ears, the faint dull shimmer of her skin that resembled translucent scales beneath the dim light, and the subtle curve of her clawed fingers.
