Oryn lay flat over a makeshift bed—albeit begrudgingly. The trembling hands of the nurse tending to him left him momentarily concerned for the state of his back once all the arrows had been pulled, but he didn’t care, he lay unflinching as those hands pulled the elven steel from his spine cleaning and dressing his wounds.
The thrumming in his ears hadn’t ceased ever since the castle, ever since he’d stepped out into the tatters of Suathadh nèimh. For a powerful elven race, they had fallen all too easily. But perhaps that had more to do with that voice, which for all its incessant nagging was surprisingly quiet now like a beast sated it hid in the crevices of his mind waiting. Always waiting.
“Leave,” his rough instruction results in a squeal of fright from the nurse as she scram
