Arthur carried Gwyns limp body through the snowy streets. Gwyn was too light, and Arthur could feel every one of his ribs through the soaked clothes. Arthur had taken his coat off and wrapped it around Gwyns frail form, but the small boy was already soaked, still dripping and shivering violently. He had passed out just a few minutes after Arthur had started walking, the last of his strength drained by the hunger and cold.

Finally Arthur reached his house. It was a tall building, five stories, all his. The servants lived with him, of course, in the servants quarters.

His butler, Jimmy, answered the door, looking at the shaking male in Arthur's arms but not asking questions.

Arthur carried Gwyn to a spare room, near his own, laying him down and trying to see how bad he was. His lips had a blue tint, his pale skin dotted with bruises, and he was so, so skinny. Arthur peeled away the wet layers of ripped clothing and sent Jimmy to find some dry clothes and towels.

After a while, Gwyn had stopped shivering so hard, and Arthur had managed to get him to drink some water, but he still hadn't properly woken up. He looked like he hadn't slept in days, having to watch over his shoulder since the whole hybrid thing.