Talren was asleep when Nova returned to Orven's storehouse. He lay in the adjoining shelter with his crushed hand on a folded cloth. A resident was watching him through the night, although Orven warned that rest and dressings might not restore its use.
Merra sat beside an open supply chest. Vessa stood beside the door, while Orven counted dried roots into small cloth packets.
"How is he?" Nova asked.
"Better than he was yesterday," Orven replied. "Worse than he'd like us to believe. He tried to get up when someone mentioned Ivo. I told him that if he left his bed, I'd tie him to it."
"He believed you?"
"He knows me." Orven pushed a packet across the table. "Sit down. Merra's been remembering what they carried. I would prefer not to send you after a man using nothing but guesses."
Merra turned a small tin over in her hands. Her bandaged fingers made the movement awkward, but she refused Vessa's offer to take it.
