“Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?” I asked softly.
His eyes opened and he regarded me carefully. “Would you have cared?”
“At the time…” I said and then decided to answer honestly, “I don’t know. We were both angry before you left.”
Arokan made a sound in the back of his throat, an acknowledgment. The water trickled when he lifted his arms, scooping it up to wet his shoulders and upper chest.
“Mirari told me about the Ghertun,” I said, my eyes going to his throat, at the little knick there scabbed over with blood. “I had no idea that there are beings like that living on Dakkar.”
“I have seen some humans do worse things than the Ghertun,” Arokan said. “I have seen Killap and Nrunteng do worse things too. And Dakkari. Beings like that have always lived here.”
The Killap and the Nrunteng were other races that had arrived on Dakkar, the same time around humans, though I’d never seen one. Their settlements were further to the east.
“Still,” he continued, “as a race, the Ghertun are the most dangerous. Dakkari, humans, Killap, and Nrunteng? Their dangerous ones are outliers.”
“I’m assuming you found the pack you were looking for,” I commented, my eyes trailing his flesh. The blood had just started to soften, so I dipped my wash cloth into the water, soaking it.
“Lysi,” was all he said.
Smoothing the cloth over his forearm, I focused on scrubbing the grime away as I said, “Next time, I would like to hear about your leaving from you. Not Mirari.”
Arokan stilled, his eyes cutting to me, glinting like ice. “Neffar?”
I ignored his word, focusing on cleaning his skin. But Arokan wasn’t to be denied for long, because he caught my hand, tearing the wash cloth away, before tilting my chin up to look at him.
“Neffar?”
I assumed, by his tone,neffarmeant something likewhat.
Taking a deep breath, I said, “I don’t like being kept in the dark.”
Arokan was studying me, those yellow-rimmed eyes darting back and forth between mine, as if I’d asked him a riddle and he was trying to decipher the answer.
“I will tell you next time,” he finally said, dropping my chin, his gaze turning away.
I nodded, snagging the wash cloth again. “Thank you.”
“Have you eaten?” he asked next.
“Broth,” I answered.
He shook his head, muttering something in Dakkari. “You need meat. You cannot survive on broth.”
“I have for a long time,” I informed him.
A sharp breath through his nostrils told me he was frustrated. Probably tired too. I wondered if he’d slept since he’d left.
We lapsed into silence again as I washed him. Once his arms were clean, I moved to his chest, where a thick coat of blood remained just above his right pectoral muscle.
However, as I washed the area, noticing that Arokan stiffened, I gasped, seeing that the blood surrounding it wasn’t Ghertun blood, it was his own. Underneath the crusted blood was a deep slash that probably needed stitching.
“You’re hurt,” I whispered. “Should I go get—”
“Nik,” Arokan rasped. He pointed to a tall dresser, near the entrance of the tent. “There are sutures and dressings in there.”
I pushed up from the bathing tub and retrieved them—thin golden thread, a hook needle, a clear salve, and clean padding.
I placed them on the bed, knowing that I wouldn’t be able to stitch him in the water. It would have to wait until he was clean.
