9
Petron folded the warm damp cloth in half and placed it carefully on Frankle’s forehead, gently wiping a stray hair back into place as he did so. His patient’s eyes were closed now, the black ink that filled them having faded slowly over the hours that he had lain in bed being tended by Petron and Heather. When Petron had last pulled them open to check, they were clouded and grey, but improving, and he was confident it would only be a matter of time before Frankle returned to them from wherever he had ventured on the other side of the conduit.
‘How’s our patient doing?’
Petron turned toward the voice and nodded as he saw Lodan step into the room. ‘Improving. I think more due to simple rest than anything I’ve done.’
‘I doubt that.’ Lodan crept quietly up to the bed, careful not to wak
