Kenneth
I laid her down on the bed and she whimpered as if the movement had hurt her. Her eyes were screwed shut, her face a mask of deep agony. Her chest moved with heavy breaths. “Young one,” I patted her cheek and she let out a tortured groan.
The last words she had said were something about my touch. But, what did it mean? “Tell me, what’s wrong?” I asked as I placed my palm on her forehead to check if she had once again fallen sick or caught the fever, but her skin was cold to the touch, not hot. Almost clammy as sweat dotted her hairline.
Her lips moved but no words came out. I leaned closer. “Young one, tell me what do you need? Let me help you.”
“C-cold. I ne-need cold.” She mumbled. Her fingers grabbed on my arm. “It’s s-so h-hot...” Even as she said that her teeth chattered
