You really are v-very stupid.” Aric peeled one eye open, but that didn’t help much. He still saw nothing but blackness. He could smell, though. The citrusy soap he stole from the bathhouse, coal smoke from the tile stove, damp stone, and a waste bucket that needed emptying. He could feel as well. Soft quilts beneath him and over his legs and stomach, and familiar long fingers kneading at his chest. “Why w-were you out in a s-storm half naked and sick? Is this some strange v-village ritual?” Gray’s voice was soft and soothing despite the rebuke of the words. “Itan,” Aric said with a sigh. The hands stopped their movement. “And?” “Too late. He died in my arms.” “Oh, Aric.” Gray stroked Aric’s face. “H-he didn’t die alone.” Aric supposed he should have drawn some comfort from that, but his heart felt hard and his mouth tasted bitter. “He could have been saved if someone had helped him earlier. And there are so many others, Gray!” “I kn-know. Now shush a m-minute.
