It had been two days since last they roused her from her lonely cell. Dazed and bitter, her patient had only just discovered the severity of his injury and what his last fight cost him. Still feverish and groggy from the poppy essence she’d given him to dull the pain, his awareness was sharp. He asked for water and she made the mistake of telling him her name. Then he sent her away from him again and had not called her back to tend to him since.

She wondered if the fever gripped him. At night when she did manage sleep, she dreamed she was leading him once more away from the dark path that would take him to death. From a distance she watched herself cradling his head in her lap, running fingers through his hair and promising him that everything would be all right, but even she didn’t believe that. Not for Taven Grimmbane, and certainly not for herself.

It was a strange thing that she worried for him. She found herself stretching her neck and peering through the branches of her cell whenever someone moved near the tent. More than once she thought to ask after him, but she already knew her inquiries would yield silence. Continue reading →