Frey turned back to looks hard at Asbel. The prince's eyes were cold and calculating. If Frey's words and eyes were weapons, he would win every fight. Sighing in irritation, the silver-haired prince put a hand against the rough, peelin bark of a gnarled black tree. It looked like something you would see in a massacre painting, and made him uneasy. 

For a moment, Frey was about to actually respond. If he was to travel with Asbel, he may as well be civil. Suppose he caught a cold and Asbel was his only means of recovery? Nevertheless, the young man recalled what Asbel had done to him not a full hour ago. He inched closer to the phoenix, until their faces were mere inches apart. "Stop that." He echoed before walking around Asbel and back toward Cassius and August. 

Why didn't he do more than simply repeat what was said to him? Frey had just eaten toast, so Asbel could most likely smell the orange marmalade in his breath. There was still some of the gooey sweet substance on is teeth, and he licked at it thoughtlessly.

Frey noted the huge bags the general and dragon carried, but didn't make an offer or move to help. "Can we get moving?"