It was cold. Ba’an curled up on herself, shivering. She felt so sick. Her insides were burning up and sloughing off at the same time. Everything hurt. Her skin was hypersensitive; the places where her clothes touched felt as though they were being sanded.

She whimpered.

“Ba’an.” Someone stroked her hair away from her forehead. A cloth drenched in cold water mopped her face. “Ba’an. You have to drink.” The voice was familiar. He was speaking in K’Avaari, though his thick accent made it hard to understand.

There was a wet cloth pressing against her mouth. It was too cold, the cloth too rough. She tried to turn her face away. “Ba’an. Please. Please. Can you suck on the cloth?”

He sounded hoarse, like he had been crying. Something bad must have happened to make a grown man cry.

Well...she could try it. She opened her mouth and sucked. The water hadn’t been that cold, after all; it tasted a little stale, as though it had been sitting in a waterskin for days.

“Yes. Good. Thank you.” He did it again until she refused. She was tired.

“No,” she mumbled, and he wiped her face with the cloth again.

“Okay,” he said. “Can you try this?” He pressed his finger against her mouth, and when she opened it, he put a bitter paste on her tongue. She made an angry noise and bit him. “Ow.” His voice was calm. “I should have known. No spitting. You must eat it.”

It was disgusting, but her mouth was still too dry to spit it out. Weakly, she tried to wriggle away.

“Okay, I will stop. Do not move.” She felt the cool cloth again, though this time it settled on her forehead. “Try to sleep, Ba’an. Rest.”

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The next time Ba’an woke the ground was moving.

No, that wasn’t right.

She was moving. Her head felt stuffed with wool, and she was thirsty. Her insides felt uncomfortable still, the way one would often feel if they’d eaten some bad fish. Her skin still hurt, especially where she was pressed against his arms and chest. The man was very strong. That was nice. He would not drop her then.

“Sorry,” said the same voice. “We had to go. That was a bad place.”

Well, okay then.

She slept again.

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Sometimes he woke her on purpose. He would pester her and pester her until she opened her mouth, and he would make her drink, or put some terrible-tasting paste onto her tongue. There was no use in fighting; he was persistent. He would not stop until she did what he wanted, and only then would he go away and let her sleep.

Ba’an didn’t know how much time had passed. She slept. She woke. She drank, then she slept again. She often felt cold, but then something warm would wrap around her until she stopped shaking. Sometimes they were moving, but more often than not she was lying down on something hard.

She dreamed, sometimes. Ba’an didn’t remember what she dreamed, but it made her heart race in a bad way and sometimes her throat hurt when she woke. When she woke like that the man stroked her head gently and told her silly stories until she fell asleep again.

He had a very nice voice. She liked listening to him.

Once he’d told her a story about a boy who tried to make himself a pair of wings. He had fallen in love with the moon and had wanted a way to reach her. In the end he had fallen and died, smashing into pieces on the ground.

“That is stupid,” she’d mumbled, and he had laughed.

“Theoi,” he had said, and he had sounded relieved. “Yes,” he agreed, “But he loved her very much. He was very desperate.”

There was nothing to say to something so...so...maudlin, so she had turned over and gone back to sleep. He never stopped gently stroking her hair.

“Sleep well, Ba’an.”

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Ba’an woke up, and her head was clear.

She sat up. Her joints were sore and she ached all over, but the feeling of being scraped empty was gone. Her skin still felt sensitive, and she could feel a slight fever, but the worst had passed.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

She was alive.

She looked around. She was sitting in her own bed, in her not-vuti.

Ba’an looked down. She was naked under the blankets, and clean.

The fire had burned down to embers. Lukios lay on the floor, sleeping. To her shock, she discovered that he’d grown out a beard. Usually he was very meticulous about grooming, and he sharpened his knife every morning and evening so he could shave himself clean with a sharp blade. He didn’t like having his hair as long as it was, either, though he’d taken to tying it up with a leather strap she’d had lying around.

By the Wheel. She pressed her hands over her face. How…? What had happened?

She must have made a noise. Lukios’ eyes snapped open. When he saw her sitting up his eyes widened, something so painfully vulnerable crossing his face that she had to look away.

“Ba’an!” He sprang to his feet. “You’re awake! Are you thirsty? Hungry?” Yes and yes. She nodded.

But first she needed the outhouse.

“Lukios.” Her voice was a croak.

“Yes?” He ladled a cup full of water and brought it to her. He brought it to her lips, helping her sip. It was bliss, but her throat spasmed and she coughed.

“Ba’an!” He reached over and gently patted her back until she finished coughing the water from her lungs, looking more worried than she’d ever seen him. For once there was no hint of humour in his expression, no shadow of a smile.

Ba’an wiped the water from her mouth, pushing the cup away. “...Where are my clothes?”

She could see him darken to the tips of his ears, even in the low light of the not-vuti. “I’m sorry. I undressed you and uh...wiped you down. You were covered in blood and vomit and uh...other things.” He made a gesture over his front to indicate spillage.

Right. Other things. Ba’an had had many patients over the years. She could guess what those “other things” had been. Wonderful. The poor man.

“I understand. It is well, I only...wish to go to the privy. I cannot go naked. No, I suppose I can. There is no one to see me.” That was true. Only Lukios was here, and he had already seen her naked and covered in her own filth, so what did it matter? She shifted to get off the bed.

“What—wait, wait, wait! Your clothes are right here! They’re—just wait a moment—” He stumbled to the small chest where she kept her clothes, uncharacteristically clumsy. Hadn’t she left her things in the privy? She watched him open and close it, touched. He had fixed the corner while she was sleeping.

“Here.” He handed her what she usually wore—a simple dress that was a rectangular sack with sleeves. It smelled and felt freshly washed. He had done the laundry too? “Your feathered coat is still drying, I think. It’s hanging in the cave.” He looked at her from beneath his bangs, suddenly hesitant. “Do you...need help? Or can you move okay?”

“I can dress myself, I think. I may need help with walking. We will see.”

He turned his back to her as she dressed, which struck her as somewhat silly. What did it matter now, anyway? She’d seen him naked too, when she’d been stitching him up. How was this any different?

“You washed everything as well? Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I have to say, Ba’an, you need more clothes. Actually, you could do with more of everything.”

She smiled, though he could not see it with his back turned. “Where would I keep it? I do not like climbing up the stairs all the time.”

“...Would you prefer ladders? I think I could fit some shelves on the walls down here too, if you wanted.”

“That is not needed. I am finished now.” Ba’an did not know how long she had been lying in bed, but it had undoubtedly delayed him a great deal. He should have been in Kyros right now, or even headed home.

He came to help her stand. “I can just carry you there.”

She shook her head. “I must know if my legs work.”

He helped her to the privy. She could walk, though everything hurt, and she thought she wouldn’t be able to go too far any time soon. She would need time to strengthen her muscles, to shake off the soreness of disuse.

“I’ll wait out here.” Lukios leaned against the wall, facing toward the not-vuti. “Shout if you need me.” Ba’an could feel another smile forming on her face. This was almost nostalgic, except their roles had reversed and he, shockingly, had more patience than she did.

Once she was finished, they returned to the not-vuti. Ba’an sat in her bed with her back to the rock wall. She was exhausted already, and it hadn’t even been fifteen minutes.

He brought her soup and water, sitting at the edge of her bed so he could hand her each item as she needed. Ba’an didn’t have a table, or any chairs. Usually she just sat by the fire if she wanted to eat, and she sometimes sat on the stairs if she wanted to just relax and do nothing. She didn’t own any trays, either, so the entire meal was a bit awkward.

“You need some furniture, too.” Lukios handed her some water and she sipped. “I thought about making some with the akaikai trees, but the wood’s just too soft. Those things must grow fast.” They did. They were really only good for firewood, or temporary tools meant to become firewood.

Ba’an sipped her water and listened to him talk. It was strange. He spoke as though they would ever see each other again once he left.

“How did you find me?”

He went silent and still. After a moment, he spoke. “Well, it was hard to miss. All that thunder and lightning? I just knew you were up to your ears in something.”

“How did you know that was me?”

Lukios gave her a look and raised his eyebrow. “Well, who else could it be? There’s only one Stormcrow.”

The water cup fell from her fingers. Lukios caught it, but not before the water spilled all over the bed.

“Ba’an! What’s wrong? Is it your hand?”

She stared at him mutely before answering. “How long have you known?”

He just looked at her as though it should have been obvious. “Well, since I first saw you.”

Ba’an only continued staring.

He took in her expression. When he spoke again he did so very carefully, his tone low and soothing.

“Ba’an. I was a soldier for a long time, remember? I was there five years ago—when you took Perenos Field? I was there, and I saw you up real close. I recognized you right away.”