Samandriel knelt, not breaking eye contact until he had to get on all fours. There was the anger he'd been missing before, the loathing. No one should have to debase themselves like this if they didn't wish to but what choice did he have.
He crawled to Carrick, dropping down onto his forearms to bend prostrate before him as much as his position allowed. He hoped Carrick could feel the loathing, could know without a shadow of a doubt that Samandriel was swearing up a storm in Enochian at him in his head.