Page 122 of Bound

Those things mattered, didn’t they?

His clothes were rumpled. As if they’d been wet and then dried while still on his person. His eyes were shadowed with exhaustion.

He looked as she felt. Except she hadn’t been allowed to keep her wet clothes.

Chilled through. Even she knew cold was a dangerous thing, so she could not be angry with him for having removed them. For not retrieving a fresh shift... perhaps she could be a bit cross about that.

Later.

Now she needed to lie down on something soft. While she let him fetch her herbs steeped in... “A half spoon of herbs,” she told him. “Then fill the mug halfway with hot water.” She didn’t answer him about moving beds. She swallowed hard and went to her mama’s alcove. She came in here, sometimes. To clean. To freshen the linens so they would not grow dusty.

But it was hard not to think about... about that morning. Of finding her.

“Sorry, Mama,” she mumbled, heart aching to see her bed in such disarray. Needs must, she supposed, lying down on her stomach and keeping her cocoon of quilts about her.

It wasn’t long before he was back beside her, kneeling down so he could bring the mug to her lips and urge her to swallow. They were bitter, the flavour tempered in her girlhood with two spoonfuls of sweet syrup, but she hadn’t thought to ask for it now.

It was a testament to how poorly she felt that she did not even consider sitting up and taking the mug for herself. She could be better tomorrow, she decided. She’d wave him off and assure him she could take care of herself.

But today...

Was it today? Or was it still last night?

“Is it morning?” she asked, swallowing the last of it.

He blinked, as if he had not given the time the least bit of thought. “Probably. Storm makes it hard to tell.”

She nodded, burrowing as much as she could into her blankets. The fire had been almost too warm, but now that she was without it, she felt the bits of cold seeping into her.

Old trepidations felt suddenly very far away. The stubborn refusal to rely on him, to ask him for anything at all, paled when compared to one of her animals going without.

“Braum,” she started, willing the herbs to work. To calm her aching head and possibly even mend her wing without outside assistance, but she was less hopeful in that regard.

“Wren,” Braum countered back, pulling back the mug and looking as if he was sorry for it. A foolish thing to feel regret about, but he’d told her to leave him to his own feelings.

She might have smiled if she didn’t hurt so. “I don’t suppose you know how to take care of hesper during a storm, do you?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “No. But I’m a quick learner, if you’ll tell me how.”

She wasn’t going to cry. It wasn’t needed and would only make her head hurt more. But she wanted to. Because... because he was here, and more than willing to help.

“We can talk about the mucking, later. But for now, they’ll need breakfast. Milking too, if you’re brave enough.”

She kept things orderly in the stables, but it still took effort she didn’t particularly have just to describe the sacks of grain. The scoops. Which buckets went where, and no he, he couldn’t leave the bucket in the stall or else Temperance would break it and then there’d be no more bucket at all.

“Don’t fret,” Braum urged, and she didn’t even roll her eyes. Just closed them and hummed something that might have been an affirmation, but it ended up sounding like nothing much at all. “Then we’ll talk about that wing.” He leaned toward her, briefly. “You’d be up feeding the hesper if I went to fetch the healer first, wouldn’t you?”

She winced.

Nodded.

“No one should have to go hungry,” she murmured. And meant it. She’d walked through worse than the storm last night to see them fed properly. Was often nudged at for her troubles, the stable keeping out perhaps too much of the storm so they couldn’t understand why they weren’t let out for grazing.

She didn’t bother arguing about her wing. Each breath sent a tug through it, a reminder that something was very wrong. Not the aching twinges from a night spent in an awkward position. This was searing. Piercing. A stabbing throb that meant...

She swallowed.

Felt Merryweather jump on the bed beside her and curl up close to her side as Braum opened the door and headed out into the storm.