And then the Tormaunt was upon him again, before he had even had the chance to catch his breath. Their middle foot pinned his chest and they leaned in close to Terence’s face. He was unable to move as the Tormaunt’s center hand reached gently forward to press his chest down toward the earth, and then it moved to his face. The Tormaunt’s face hovered close above Terence’s, their eyes calm and curious and larger than Terence felt a face ought to be. They did not appear to be out of breath, though Terence himself was definitely fighting to keep his breathing under control. Their shoulders would have been within arms’ reach if Terence could have had that freedom of movement. Those ruddy, grey shoulders remained motionless as their neck began to move; their head, seeming to float with a mystical slowness, slowly rose upward, leaving Terence’s gaze as their eyes began searching about his shoulders, neck and head.