This was a test to see how cloth draping compared with conforming clothing in actual scene I might do. I used a chapter cut from one of my books and rendered each scene twice. The first image is draped. The second is conforming. As far as time each scene took, there wasn't much difference. You can be the judge of while clothing looks better. Bacna winced again as he tried to lift his foot. Remtani sighed softly. “Hold this.” He handed his brother back the cane, then bent down and scooped him up with ease, carrying him up the remaining stairs to Ann’s floor. “You won’t make it up here before she gets back,” he said, cutting off any protest. “Why is your leg so bad today?” “I f-fell on on the st-stairs yesterday,” Bacna admitted quietly. “The green bough isn’t helping m-much.” “What did the healers say?” “I d-didn’t t-talk to them,” Bacna confessed, shame flickering across his face. “They’re b-both b-busy with the soldiers.” Remtani’s frown deepened. Mila and Shunati had been working tirelessly alongside the army healers ever since Lyra and the trolls had attacked Menthanla. He steered his brother toward Ann’s receiving room, the first door in the hall. “No, Ann’s b-bedroom,” Bacna protested. Remtani ignored him completely. “Sit.” He deposited Bacna onto the cushioned couch with more gentleness than his tone suggested. He summoned a page with a gesture and sent him to retrieve Caltan from the college, the head healer, not some junior apprentice. “I’m f-fine,” Bacna insisted, though his voice quavered. “You can barely walk. What if it’s broken? You have enough trouble. You don’t want to risk more damage,” Remtani pointed out, sitting next to his brother. “It’s not broken. It’s been broken nineteen times. I know what that feels like,” Bacna insisted. “We’ll let Caltan check it anyway.” Remtani leaned forward. “Now, what has you so upset about supervising a few workers?” Bacna’s gaze dropped to his hands that twisted in his lap. “Ann a-almost d-died a-again. She’s only t-twenty-six, and and she’s come closer to to d-death m-more times than I did as a baby.” “Only if you count the times I tried to kill her,” Remtani said, the words heavy with self-loathing. Bacna shot him a sharp look. “It’s n-not funny.” “No, it isn’t,” Remtani agreed softly. “But she survived. I think Andy will help her make wiser choices. He’ll look after her, and make sure she looks after herself. She’ll be okay.” “And w-we st-stay away from her,” Bacna insisted, his voice tight. “I won’t hurt her anymore. And I won’t make you hurt her either. That’s over.” Remtani’s words came out low, weighted with old guilt. “D-did they find a c-cure for madness?” Bacna asked, skepticism warring with a faint spark of hope in his eyes. “No. I’m not mad,” Remtani explained. “It’s a spell. Someone, sometime, put a spell on me.” “Didn’t Mirimar check you for magic?” Bacna asked, tilting his head. Remtani nodded. “She and Shunati both did. But this spell is different. Only Nim and Andy can see it.” “Why?” “Because they’re special.” He couldn’t reveal they were augmenters. That knowledge was too dangerous. But Bacna wasn’t a fool. He would understand the implication. Bacna relaxed. “W-Well, it’s good someone f-found it. When he’s free, Shun can r-remove it, or maybe Ann when she gets back.” Remtani shook his head and absently fingered the worn leather cord around his wrist, strung with five smooth wooden beads. “They can’t. They already tried. Even Pt’this tried.” Bacna did a visible double-take. “Pt’this c-cast?” The dragon r-rarely used magic. “He did. It’s a long story. He’s surprisingly strong, too. But no one can do anything about it.” Remtani held up the bracelet. “Ann charmed this to keep the spell dormant.” “So… it wasn’t t-truly you who did all those terrible things to Ann. You were compelled.” Bacna’s voice was thick with a complicated tangle of emotions. He had harbored such resentment for what Remtani had done, what Remtani had forced him to do. Yet he had never forgotten how his brother had tirelessly worked with him, teaching him to walk and speak when everyone else had written him off. He had always prayed for a reason, for some explanation that would exonerate the brother he still loved. “I still did them,” Remtani insisted. “So d-did I, remember?” “I made you. And you weren’t there for the worst of it.” “You m-made m-me. The spell m-made you,” Bacna replied with surprising firmness. “I know I’m a s-simpleton, but I don’t see a-a difference.” Before Remtani could respond, the page returned with an elf in tow. “Master Caltan?” The healer nodded. “What’s the trouble?” “Bacna fell down the stairs and hurt his leg. He can barely walk even with his pain relievers. The palace healers are busy helping the army,” Remtani explained. Caltan frowned thoughtfully as he approached. “I’ve heard. I’m not sure your new head healer was the wisest appointment, but he’ll sort out the weak links.” He extended a hand over Bacna’s leg, his brow furrowing in concentration. “It’s not broken this time, thankfully. But you’ve torn some tendons. If you’d left it, it would have healed poorly. This won’t take long.” The healing magic flowed gently. When Caltan finished, he straightened. “Use your brace for the next few days and the canes as needed. I’ll check on you again unless Mila or Shunati report improvement.” Bacna nodded gratefully. “Thank y-you.” Caltan inclined his head and let himself out.