The woman had been bathed, and her wounds cleansed and tended to the best of their ability. It had done little to ease the fever racking her body. Doubtless her flight through the woods had only worsened her injury. She’d been placed on his bed, soft furs draped around her body. In the room, lit dimly by basins of flame and the watery light of the red moon, she appeared unnaturally bleached and sickly. Her dark skin was dry when it should not have been--should have been soaked through with perspiration at her heat. He wondered that the wound affected her so harshly, but suspected dark magic had more to do with her illness than any natural cause. Raphael climbed into the bed and knelt beside her. He smoothed a gold strung lock of brown/black hair from her face. He’d never seen the like of it before and the highlights threading through her coarse dark hair fascinated him. Her eyes moved rapidly beneath her heavily lashed lids, her body twitching slightly, her mouth parted on a sigh. She was dreaming, likely of the chase or some other horror he could only imagine.
