39
Hugh reeled in a sea of memories, vaguely aware that he was lying in a bed.
“Rest,” he heard Dale say. “It’s like being reborn.”
Hugh drifted in and out of sleep, images washing over him like the tide on the shore.
“Did Adirah do this?” A dark-haired girl frowned and lifted a hand toward his face.
Hugh turned away, embarrassment stinging him worse than his injuries did. “Ran into a tree.”
“One that leaves hand marks?”
He did not answer.
“Here.” She picked up a jar of ointment from the wooden table and reached toward him. “Seamus ran into a tree, too. One called Father.”
“Again?” Hugh asked as she smeared it on his swollen eye. “He’s so small. How can he take it?”
“I don’t know,” she gave him a pained look, her green eyes glistening. “I wish we had one like yours.”
“Kat.” Hugh
