Page 22 of Moonless

We’re close enough that his breath moves a loose strand of my hair. I sit still while he lays the cloth flat, watching his thumb press beside the wound. It’s warm against my skin, and I follow it longer than I need to.

He glances up. I meet his eyes instead of moving away.

“You’re much better at this than conversation.”

“Then stop making me do both.”

I laugh, one quick sound that pulls at my shoulder. His hand stays beneath my arm while I wince.

“You’ve got a name to go with those hands?”

“Hold this.”

His voice is flat again. So that’s a no. He puts my right hand over the pad and reaches for the wrapping.

I hold it, watching him pass the linen behind my back. He keeps it loose until I’ve settled against his supporting arm, then secures it without catching my hair.

“There.”

I test a breath. The new bandage holds firmly without dragging my shoulder down.

He reaches for the shirt, undoing the ties at its neck. I put my injured hand into the left sleeve, and he feeds the cloth up my arm a little at a time. The neck’s wide enough that I don’t have to raise the shoulder to get my head through, and I get my other arm in myself. The cuffs cover both hands, and he folds them back. Hmph.

“Stand slowly.”

I plant my feet on the stone and push up. I stay beside the pallet with his hand open near my good elbow until the room steadies.

The shirt hangs below my knees. I gather it at the waist and wrap his belt around it, but the tightest hole leaves too much room.

He holds the leather away from me and presses a claw through it farther along. Then he gives it back.

I fasten it in the new hole.

“That’ll do.”

He crouches to collect the dirty linen, and I take a step. My legs hold, though my shoulder pulls when I forget to keep the arm tucked in.

His ear turns at the scrape of my foot.

I take one more, then come back to the pallet. He’s still watching when I sit down.

He gathers the empty bowl along with the used cloth. When he lifts the cloak from the floor, I reach for it, and he puts it across my knees.

I watch where he takes the bowls.

He goes into the other passage and comes back with more water. Later he sits by the hearth with a broken strap, pushing a claw through the leather and working the lace in behind it. He hasn’t asked me one thing. I drink when I’m thirsty and rest my head against the folded fur.

The light high on the wall moves while he works. When I shift my legs beneath the cloak, they no longer tremble.

I’ve had food, water, and enough sleep to lose a whole day. Keer should be able to feel me now.

I reach for him through the bond.

I keep my eyes on the fire while I do it. My brother was there when I last tried, faint but there. I leave my own sending open, trying to send him the relief of being warm and alive.

I wait for his alarm, his anger, anything that comes with him finding me.

The man by the fire pulls another stitch through the leather.