"It is astounding how backwards this academy can be. Ordinary thread, to reattach a severed limb? Clearly they don't have much experience with the undead. Or perhaps it's just that they don't care. Hold still, would you? There's a good zombie."

Amanda gritted her teeth as Praetorian deftly worked a needle through the cold flesh of her stump. Lying beside her was a severed forearm, attached only by the dark-glowing threads that Praetorian had conjured.

"How long does this take?" she grunted. "Aren't you finished yet?"

"Patience, patience, perfection cannot be rushed."

From her bed nearby Mist watched in fascinated horror, her eyes fixed on the needle.

"Why isn't ordinary thread good?" she asked, unable to tear her gaze away even to look at Praetorian.

"Mm? Oh, it breaks the stasis magic—or perhaps 'disrupts' would be a better word, in any case it would damage the binding and render the limb useless. Eventually it would rot."

"Oh. Um. That's kind of what I thought zombies were like. All rotting and stuff. Um, before I met you Amanda, of course! I don't think that now."

"Yes, well, no surprise if the level of knowledge here is anything to go by. This is a cantrip so simple that a child could learn it—and so they do, in my homeland. Most households have at least one zombie, knowing how to repair them is an essential skill." Praetorian leant forward, frowning at a tricky bit of stitching. "And yet here ... hold still, very still, there's a girl ... yes, there we go, good good—and yet, and yet and yet and yet there persists this wrongheaded image of the decaying, pestilent zombie. In reality—when properly maintained—they can be kept in remarkably good condition. Indeed, somewhat ironically your average zombie will be cleaner than your average living person, as long as the stasis magic is adequately sustained and the binding remains ... intact..."

Praetorian trailed off, his eyes going to the room's doorway and the stout figure now standing within it. He gave a neutral 'hm' then went back to his work, making sure his magic stitches were nice and even.

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Mist glanced towards the door then looked down at her hands. She opened her mouth to say something then closed it again.

Amanda didn't look. She didn't trust herself to.

Sly had already left the infirmary, as soon as he was able.

"I don't suppose we can blame you," Praetorian said, holding Amanda's arm in place as he pulled the thread tight. "If our positions were reversed you can certainly believe I would have done the same." He surveyed his work, nodded once in satisfaction, then looked up at Nala as his needle and the remaining thread vanished into a glow of dark energy. "Did you see what happened?"

"Yes."

"Mm. Do you think they deliberately followed us?"

"Yes."

"Mm." Praetorian looked up at Amanda. "Raise your right arm."

Amanda did as Praetorian commanded, the glowing threads fading with the movement.

"Splendid, all fixed. You can put your bandages back on now."

Amanda looked away, scowling. Praetorian smiled coolly at Nala.

"There's gratitude for you. It was the same group as before, that bandit bully Raid and his cronies. They took all that we had gathered, promised mercy in exchange. Hah, such gullible, desperate fools we are, such gullible, desperate losers. I suppose it's just a mercy that we didn't earn demerits for the defeat, although having to pay for healing was a bitter pill. I have exactly three merits left, Mist has none—and isn't entirely healed."

"They bandaged me, though," Mist said. "Praetorian and Amanda helped pay for that. Um, thanks again."

Praetorian waved away Mist's gratitude like an irritating fly, then looked at Nala.

"I don't suppose you feel like sharing what you gathered?"

"I have only crafting components. Their value is small."

"Ah well, such is life." Praetorian glanced at Amanda, who was looking down at her hands, long hair covering her face. "Such is death, come to that."

"Nala?"

Mist's voice was small, her manner apologetic.

"I, I don't blame you for not, you know ... saving us."

"Tzugakk was with me," Nala said. "You do blame him?"

"Oh, no, of course not—um, Gakk, I don't blame you either—"

Tzugakk stepped out of Nala's shadow, hands clasped together wretchedly.

"You should blame me. I am a coward. That I did not even try—"

"You are down to your last demerit, correct?" Praetorian said.

"I would not have earned one for defeat—"

"Ah, but we did not know that at the time. No, I cannot place blame upon you, Tzugakk, you have more to lose than any of us."

"Not much more," Amanda muttered.

"Sly has left?" Nala asked.

"He, um, he went as soon as he was healed," Mist said. "Um, I think he was a bit annoyed. Um. Nala? What do we do now?"

"Escort you to your room." Nala rubbed her cheek. "This day is over."