Belgar huffed. His arms dropped rigidly, but he was not angry. In fact, there was a hint of red embarrassment on his ears, where Morwen protected them from flaring in the cold air. Twenty four winters... that was twice the number Belgar had seen. While it was true that he had reached the height of his maturity long before the human, so was it true that he was, in most ways, inferior to the Vantha he served. He loosened he jaw from where it had been locked onto his skull to say, “Excuse me. I didn’t mean—”
He looked away and found the statue again. After a few moments to allow himself one last sight of its beauty, he mentioned, “I should go. I am neglecting my duties. I... I hope you feel better.”
Then he nodded politely and turned towards the trees from which he had emerged. His hands were still tense fists when he disappeared between them, but eventually the comfort of pseudo-wilderness embraced and calmed him. He resumed his wandering with old troubles to wash out the new ones at the front of his mind; the distance made them that much easier to bear.