Quickburned

Water

Now...

Caleb woke before dawn, starving and clear-headed. Lys was curled in a ball under his arm, her back against his side and a nest of pillows cradling them both. She looked worn, and Caleb rolled slowly over to press a kiss to her cheek.

Every muscle ached and complained as he levered himself heavily out of the bed, moving as though he'd aged eighty years in the days he'd missed. And Heavens, did it feel like a lot of days. But his bones moved when he told them to, and he set about rummaging through Lys' gear as quietly as he could to find something more to wear and some food. She didn't wake, though she stirred and stretched into the space he'd vacated with a sigh. No morning lark was Lys.

He heard her rouse a while later when the sun was just over the eastern horizon, turning the sky pink and pearl gray. There was muffled cursing and the thumps of someone not yet awake stumbling around, and then worried realization. "Caleb? Where are you? Caleb!"

"Righ' here, darling," he called in a tired drawl back through the propped-open tent flap.

Lys flung herself through the flaps, canvas swishing around her as she came to an abrupt stop. Her hair was escaping from its doubled braid in a frazzled halo around her head, and Caleb couldn't help but smile, despite the crossed arms and glare she was giving him back. "What... are you doing?"

"Roastin' eggs? Want one?" Caleb poked at the embers of the campfire with a stick by way of demonstration. He was sprawled in a sling chair he'd dragged out to the shade of the tent's awning, boneless and tired now, sure, but he'd done it fine. Nothing had broke open and started bleeding. "G'morning t'you too."

She spun on her heel and stalked back inside, letting the flap fall closed in a tent-dweller's way of slamming a door behind her. Caleb smiled and shook his head, going back to poke at the fire.

He heard the sounds of water splashing and cloth being wrung. By the time he'd picked the eggs (dug out of one of Lys' cold-jars) out to cool on the sand, she emerged looking much more alert, freshly scrubbed and in a plain red chiton. She set a folding chair next to Caleb and sat down, bending over to drop a kiss on his forehead.

"I'm very glad to see you awake properly, sunshine. How are you feeling?"

"Better," Caleb admitted. "Not great, but better. Like I got inna fist fight with Beren; all bruises and grit. But everythin' works, even if it complains. What's this stuff all down my ribs an' can I wash it off now, because it itches?"

"In a little while, but you'll get a fresh layer right after—it's clay from Surem's river demesne, has medicinal properties. You get a new dose every day until what he gave me runs out—I was given very strict instructions on its use." She didn't even look, methodically combing her fingers through her hair to release it from its braid. There was a brush already in her lap.

"Surem?"

"A sobeksis—river elemental."

"Huh."

Lys waited until he'd finished the first egg and was peeling the second before she spoke again. "How much do you remember...? You've been... not terribly coherent."

Caleb rolled the question around in his mind along with the egg in his hands. There was a lot, more than he reckoned he ought to, though it all felt distant and floating, like the memories of a story told round a campfire. He remembered Sati sitting by him, and trying to force the story of the last time he'd seen their sisters out, just so she would know he'd tried to save them. It couldn't have been Sati, not with eyes that blue (or red? They wavered in his memory—Sati's eyes were as brown as his own), but the belief was painted in strong.