Cobweb -
The Thief winces, listless, and she insults him.
But he doesn't answer, for once, eyes grimly on the road, and she doesn't care.
She doesn't notice his absence at Snow's next meeting, either, doesn't find her focus drifting with no-one there to ignore.
And in the morning when she visits, when she peels back cobwebs and poultice and lets purple fire make him wince anew, not a pain-soaked word between them for all his tired, furrowed brow – when she pulls stranded web free afterwards, caught and clinging, and thinks of 'thank you,' and heaviness in his eyes – she doesn't care.
