"Quill’s eyes lingered downward at the straight razor in front of him, setting down brush and bowl to pick it up. He could see a different reflection in the cold steel, the reflection of his former self–polished, rigid, brows ever furrowed. Fyros had asked about his stubble a couple of weeks ago, and at the time Quill had defended himself by insisting that a rugged appearance was more natural, and gave him a trustworthy air to the people in the towns below. Deep down the answer was much different: he kept this more loose appearance because Saruya had told him she liked it. He felt warmth creep to the tips of his ears at the thought. She was changing him. He was alright with that."