Thomas looked at the broken skull mask in Frey's hands and scrunched up his eyebrows. "What is that?"
"Something that will help." Frey pulled his sleeve out of his grasp.
Thomas looked to Elero and grimaced: "Ok but make sure you do this right or you'll just make things worse for Elero. Are you sure you have this?"
"Hell no." Frey stepped forward. His burning legs and twisted ankle could barely hold the enormous weight on his shoulders. Another step drew him closer and a knot formed at his chest, pulling tighter the closer he got.
"Did you find him?" Alexander asked, loosening the pressure in his jaw. "Did you find Jameson's kid?"
Elero blinked. "No…I got captured before I even entered. They had these weird sentient statues that caught me and held me down as soon as I landed at the foot of their mountain."
One day while playing baseball, I was beaned. For you non-sports folk, that means I got hit in the chest by a baseball while at bat. Pain erupted from my ribcage and I collapsed. My family were in the audience so I was trying my heart out not to curse. I was trying so hard that I wasn't breathing. I couldn't get any air. My head went fuzzy. Luckily my coach ran up and told me to let it out. I cursed like a sailor and I was able to breath and continue with the game (later I found out I had something called a bone bruise but that's not the point I'm trying to get accross). Of course I still try not to curse but sometimes I just let something slip. When I write a story, I don't want to hold my breath because a character is going to curse. I'll just suffocate myself. If they curse, they curse. If I treated their vocabulary with the same restrictions I willingly impose on myself, then it wouldn't be the same, not nearly as freeing. Of course I'm not saying to go curse nor am I trying to glorify it, but I felt that this explanation was necessary.