"By the Condor’s gleaming golden eye, what on Eyrie are you doing man?” Schael cried; a rare outbreak of emotion from the otherwise stoic Rhey’Vannese.
Mal looked up from his task, a glower set upon his face. He pierced the piece of the fabric pouch that once held Schael’s coins with his fork and shoved it into his mouth.
"It was a dare," he spat, his words muffled amid the mouthful of chewy material. "Don’t you even think about asking."
Schael narrowed his eyes, the fine skin on his forehead creasing as his thin eyebrows knitted together.
"I’m not entirely certain that is sanitary, Mal," he said disapprovingly.
Mal grimaced as he attempted to swallow the chunk of wallet. When he started to choke and splutter Schael turned an even paler shade of white.