In the corner. Rotten. Old. They stink of dead animals.
But they are warmth.
I drag them. I make a nest by the fire. I lie down, and the floor is hard. My wounds burn.
She must be warm.
I lift her. It is easy. She is nothing. She is a leaf. I am afraid I will crush her.
I do not lie on her. I do not lie next to her.
I lie on my back, my side against the wall. I pull her onto my chest.
She fits.
Her head tucks under my chin. Her body, so small, covers my heart. Her scent fills me.
A groan of pure... contentment... rumbles in my chest.
I pull the furs over both of us.
A den. A nest.
Protect. Warm. Mine.
I am warm. I am safe. She is warm. She is safe.
I stare into the fire I made.
The elves.
The thought is a blade of ice. They will come. I know it. They want her. They called me a flaw. They want to... to dissect...
A new rage. A cold rage. It is not the red haze. It is not the screaming.
It is mine.
They will not touch her.
I will not let them.
I am not a 'pet'. I am not a 'failure'.
I will not let anything take her.
My body aches. My leg is a dull fire. But my is quiet.
I close my eyes.
I do not drift to sleep with the exhaustion of a beast.
I drift to sleep with the contentment of a warrior guarding his hoard.
16
BETTY
We have been here for three days.
