THIRTY-FIVE
Rosa woke in unfamiliar warmth, though it took her fuzzy head some time to realise why it felt wrong.
"Sir Chase?" she whispered.
A gentle hand touched her forehead. "Does it hurt?" he asked.
"No," she said. "Should it?"
"You flew into a tree and knocked yourself out on a branch, I think, so I brought you back here. I gave you some of the same mead you made me drink to help me heal."
Medicinal mead? No wonder her head felt fuzzy. But it didn't hurt, either, which meant he must have given her a lot.
"What about the wolves?" she asked urgently.
"You shot the big one full of arrows and he collapsed in the snow, dead. The rest of the pack ran off when the lamp oil burned out." Chase paused. "I figured we could go back for the body tomorrow, or whenever, but it was more
