¬ Fashire
The infirmary was not where I expected to find myself.
I hadn't set foot in this wing since I was a boy.
The servant friend of hers lay in the bed, her chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven shudders.
I watched the movement, counting the seconds between each breath. One. Two. Three. A pause that stretched too long, long enough for me to wonder if the next breath would even come at all. And then her chest lifted again, barely, and the cycle repeated.
The healer assigned to the servant was still busy staring at her. His hands then trembled slightly as he adjusted the black compress at her throat for the third time.
He kept shaking his head, muttering under his breath, and I was growing tired of waiting for him to say something useful.
"She should be dead," Effer's voice cut through the silence. She stood on the opposite side of the cot, her eyes dragging along the girl's body.
