Finishing off the seam with a tidy knot, she then covered it with a bandage. On the way to replace her medical bag in her pack, she stooped and picked up his shirt and noticed there were several places where it needed repairs. Her oilskin bucket would be perfect for soaking the garment before washing and sewing it up, she decided. A sudden wave of fatigue nearly had her stumbling like a drunk, but she impatiently pushed aside the thought of sleep. She had too many things to do.

The paladin cleared his throat. "Well, by not allowing someone to refuse, their personal desires and needs mean nothing to you. They are things to be used or discarded as you see fit …"

A vision came to her then that she stood in an open field among brown stalks of grain, gasping to breathe the lifeless air. Under her feet the leaves began to twist and curl until they dissolved into a gray dust. The destruction flowed outward in all directions until death surrounded her as far as she could see, revealing black, sharp edged boulders and the perfectly preserved bones of long dead friendships and loves.

"… and then you have to wonder what have you become when you can … kill without remorse …"

The ground sagged under her feet, blowing the gray ash into her face. Her feet dissolved under her as her body turned to dust. He still went on in that soft voice, unaware of how each word went deep and disturbed sediment she thought had long ago safely turned to stone. She could feel the walls around her heart shifting and groaning as the cracks spread open over the hurt that surged upwards. Couldn't he hear her screaming, begging him to stop, to shut his mouth? A cry of protest finally escaped her lips and he looked up at her. The unadulterated concern on his face was the last thing the weakened wall could bear … and … it … broke.

It was a small, insignificant sound, not unlike a newborn kitten's mew of protest at the cold world, but it sent a pang of apprehension through his heart that made him jump to his feet. "What happened? What's wrong, May?"

She stared at him without answering, weaving on trembling legs, her dark eyes wide and her face a sickly gray color. He rushed to her side just as she clapped both hands over her mouth as if she was about to vomit. Her entire body shook as a groaning, coughing sob burst from between her fingers. Then her chin went up as her eyes rolled back in her head and her knees gave out from under her. He barely had enough time to put his arms around her before her body's unconscious weight took them both to the ground.

They landed hard and he thanked his luck it was on his good shoulder. His wound had been jolted however and began to throb and ache with a vengeance. He rolled her limp body off of him and then sat up to see if she had stuck her head. Her eyelashes were wet with tears and she looked so vulnerable and young laying there, hardly more than a child. There weren't any bruises on her head or any bleeding and her breathing was slow and deep. He carefully got to his feet and went to the door, rapping out the signal on the heavy wood before opening it. The furbolg guard took his request for bedding without comment and he went back to watch over the rogue.

He had once killed children as young as her. No, rather he should admit what it really had been – murder. He had been ordered to lead a battleplate geared squad to attack Quel'Lithien Lodge. The defenders had been youngsters caught off guard and armed only with shovels and picks. They had looked no different than him; kin long sundered, yes, but of the same blood nevertheless. The face of the last one standing, a determined, brave soul he would have been proud to call brother, had haunted his dreams for months afterwards.

Salfa himself came in followed by another furbolg carrying two bundles that when unrolled were revealed to be thick mats along with blankets. The white furred bearman stooped down to sniff the sleeping girl's face. So you have yet to kill her, then, he said. I pray you do not regret that.

"As do I," Ceawlin said, smiling at Salfa's quaint wording. "But come the morning we will be parting ways and hopefully I will never see her again."

Salfa tilted his head and his ears swiveled as if he were listening to something beyond Ceawlin's ken. The Great Mother's own good luck with that, he said, his jaw gaping in a toothy grin. I'm afraid you can't trust any of us to help you move her. Trash on the floor, so to speak. I bid you good night.