Bevrix cackled. "Yeah, sure, 'brothers.' Nice to know there's more than one, so you still have a chance!" He went to slap Asher on the back, remember what he could do, and stopped himself. He shook his head dismissively and sauntered off, still snorting in amusement.
Asher ignored Bevrix. The wind puffed his white hair over into his face, and he brushed it out of his eyes. Unlike the twins' silky locks or Keith's gleaming silver locks, his hair was the whiteness of death. It was brittle and dry. No care had gone into it at all in years. If ever. The rest of him looked the same despite the newness of his clothing and the brightness of his eyes. This was someone who was taken care of but had no care for himself.