13
The light from the chamber’s one window was growing dim, and with the growing darkness, a damp breeze began to make its presence felt. Malcolm, bored and frustrated with the forced inactivity of his convalescence, threw back the blanket covering his chest. He glared defiantly at his keeper, more than half hoping the sight of his bared wounds would bring some curse, some verbal response from his imperturbable keeper’s lips. But the resigned sigh from the old woman only served to evoke a pang of guilt in him. He watched in silence as Caddy wearily placed her sewing aside and stood up, rubbing a stiff or sore lower back with a gnarled and bony hand. Wordlessly, she shuffled to his side and covered his chest again with the blanket.
Surly and hostile, Malcolm looked away from her, too prou
