Pain arrived first, bright and thorough, then lantern light, then the smell of mint, clean bandages. A face hung over her, upside down, wearing the smile of someone long past being surprised.
"Easy, darling, you're in a cellar, an annoyingly comfortable one," the face said softly.
Her right fist lay open and empty, an emptiness that hurt worse than any of her wounds.
"The only reason I'm here is that you were the least terrible," Uriel whispered, her voice a dry rasp.
"Flattery will get you broth, I make a very patient nurse," the older woman said, dabbing her forehead with a cool cloth.
"You sat in the snow outside our gate for two nights, I counted your footprints," the tall woman added, "they got shorter every hour."
"You were watching me?"
"Of course, darling, I have a very low tolerance for strangers and a very high one for stubborn people."
