His hands worked over his body, fogging the clear water with browns and reds. His fingers worked through his hair, forming a braid from front hairline to the ends of the strands. It was thick and coarse, some stray ends sticking out in a rather haphazard manner. He tore a piece of cloth nearby and tied it at the end. It would take much longer to dry like this, but it would remain out of his face and keep from distracting him. The water sloshed when he pushed himself up and reached his feet out of the trough and onto the floor causing  the sound of a slap to travel through the open room. A short waterfall was created as he stood in his cleaned state upon the concrete. 

The clothes on the chair were scooped by large hands and transported to that same trough with dirtied water. Large hands pushed them down and rung them out in order to force out the stains. A few moment later, they were as clean as they would allow and were slung across a rope stretching the length of the narrow aisle between the wall and the baths. There was a slight draft which would slightly hasten the time for the clothes to dry and stiffen. 

Ramando took this time to calm his mind from racing through the streets and burning buildings throughout this fair town. The worry of his fellow brother was enough to churn his head with negativities toward their initial leader. He needed to silence these thoughts. He sat without clothing on a chair. He closed his eyes and opened his awareness to all around him. Focusing on everything: the footsteps heard next to him, in front of him, and above him; faint muffled voice; the smell of humidity in the room; the smell of iron and ash that followed him from the infirmary; the sound of the long sheet twitching from the slight breeze through the room; doors opening and closing; shouts of surprise, disgust; horror; and hope.