Ori was alive. But he would never be the same.

He lay in a bed in the infirmary, both legs missing from the knee down, and his right ear shorn off, most likely by Daivad during the fight. Not only that, but after an examination Kadie concluded that his left lung was gone. He was covered in stretch marks or outright torn skin, but Kadie said she was confident she could heal those almost completely with time.

Ori was in and out of consciousness, and so far he’d spoken only once. A request.

“Don’t let them see me like this.”

It was obvious the them was Odelia and Tash. It had taken three guards (two of them for Tash) to keep them out of the infirmary. Kadie promised them that Ori was going to live, and the moment he was ready to see them, they would be welcomed in. But until then, they needed to respect his wishes.

Aleaza had lived only long enough to thank Daivad for freeing him. Whether he meant from Duxon or from the Hunger, Daivad didn’t know. Then he had smiled and died.

~*~*~

The energy in camp was strange. There was an air of relief that the danger had passed and everyone could move back into their own houses—but there was a hesitation, too. A heightened awareness. Daivad noticed it as he crossed camp. People were looking over their shoulders. And he found himself more than once thinking a shifting shadow had been a hand retreating out of sight.

Anger twisted inside him, knowing that no one would ever really feel safe here again.

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He had let this happen.

It wasn’t often that Daivad went to drink with Tobei, but at least Tobei never asked too many questions when he did.

The sound of the violin floated down from Tobei’s house as Daivad approached, massaging his sore, recently-relocated elbow. Tobei’s legs dangled over the edge of his front landing and they kicked as he played, filling the night with music that pulled in two directions—celebration and grief.

Tobei rarely ever played songs, at least he rarely ever played the same one twice. There were melodies he might come back to time and again, but they were always strung together differently. Daivad couldn’t imagine how he did it, how he just picked Nani up with no plan, and all that came out of him. And how he always made it sound so good.

As expected, a jug of whiskey sat at Tobei’s dancing elbow.

Daivad climbed up to the landing and dropped himself on the other side of the jug, tucking his legs in front of him. He’d done enough dangling for today.

He grabbed the jug and took a deep swig, relishing the sweet, honeyed tinge to the gently burning liquid. Then he lay back, staring up into the dark canopy.

But those dark branches and fluttering leaves—he couldn’t help searching them for flesh tones, for fingers, for bulging eyes.

Daivad closed his eyes, massaging his forehead with his tender knuckles. But the backs of his eyelids didn’t do much to shield him from the horrific images floating in his mind. Quiet enough that he hoped it was lost to the music, he muttered, “Shit.”

For several minutes and another three pulls on the jug, Tobei didn’t say anything.

Finally, without pausing in his playing, Tobei said, “Wish I’d been at your side.”

Daivad had assigned Tobei and Kunin to stay at camp, just in case. In case the beast had gotten away and went to seek some revenge.

After a beat, Daivad said, “No you don’t.”