Well he did before he cut his thumb. “Ah shit! What the hell?” He dropped the brush in the sink basin with a start and observed the nick on his thumb and the precious red essence pouring from it. He did not feel the odd pang or the reaction he did when he noticed Hirsild’s cut, or the long mourned for uneaten raw steak, or the smell coming from Geoffrey’s room. Come to think of it, he didn’t get it in the duel either when it was his blood on the floor. But this was beside the point, which was worrying, granted, but not as worrying as what he saw next. He wiped the condensation from the mirror and lifted his upper lip up.