I wasn't in danger. Not right now.
The realization made something tight in my chest finally loosen.
The hide screen covering the entrance rustled, and I tensed automatically before Daska ducked inside, pulling the furs tighter to my chest and making sure I was completely covered.He moved carefully in the low space, his broad shoulders briefly blocking the light before he settled beside me.
He looked tired. Shadows under his eyes, deeper lines around his mouth than I remembered. But when he saw I was awake, his whole face softened and he smiled widely.
"Hey," I tried to say, but it came out as a croak.
He was already reaching for a water skin, unstoppering it with quick efficiency. He helped me sit up and brought the opening to my lips.
The water was cold and sweet and I drank too fast, coughing a little. He pulled it back, waited, then offered it again. This time I sipped more carefully, feeling the coolness trace down my throat and settle in my stomach.
"Thank you," I whispered.
He made a soft sound, and touched the back of his hand to my forehead. His skin was warm, and I found myself leaning into the touch before I could stop myself.
Daska pulled his hand back and said something in his language. The words were low and musical, completely incomprehensible, but his tone was gentle and reassuring. He gestured to my leg, eyebrows raised in question.
"It hurts," I admitted, "but it's better. I think." I touched the bandages carefully then gestured at him. "You did this?"
He seemed to understand my meaning if not my words, because he nodded and said something else, then mimed drinking. When I looked confused, he pointed to a wooden bowl near the fire pit. It looked like some kind of tea, with steam still rising from the surface.
"For me?" I asked, placing my hand on my chest.
Another nod. He reached for it, but I stopped him with a hand on his arm.
"Wait. I—" How did I even begin to say this? "Thank you. For everything. For saving me, and for..." I gestured vaguely atmyself, at the shelter, at the careful bandages. "All of it. I know I was... I probably wasn't easy to deal with."
He watched me as I spoke, his dark eyes serious and attentive. I had no idea how much he understood, but I reached out and laid my hand gently over his heart.
“Thank you,” I repeated softly. Something in his expression said he caught the important parts. He reached out slowly and covered my hand with his for a brief moment, then pulled away and reached for the bowl, passing it carefully to me.
The tea was bitter but warming, with a herbal edge that reminded me of chamomile. I drank it slowly while Daska watched, and tried not to think about how aware I was of him. The quiet steadiness of his presence. The way he moved with such careful precision in the small space, never crowding me but always close enough to help if I needed it.
He's just doing his job,I reminded myself.You're a patient. That's all.
But when I finished the tea and tried to hand him back the bowl, our fingers brushed. And the little spark of warmth that shot up my arm felt like anything but professional. Unfortunately, all that did was draw my attention to how I looked. I felt disgusting.
The fever was gone, and I knew Daska had washed my body at least once, but my hair matted against my scalp, and my skin was itchy with days of laying in bed.
"I need to wash," I said, more to myself than to him. "Is there... water? Somewhere I could..."
I gestured vaguely, trying to mime washing, rubbing my hands in my hair and pulling an exaggerated expression of disgust. Daska's expression shifted to something like understanding and then he laughed and nodded. He glanced toward the entrance, then back at me, considering.
Then he stood in one smooth motion and held out his hand.
I stared at it. "I can walk."
He waited, patient and unmoved.
"Seriously, I just need..." I tried to push myself up and immediately the world swam. My leg screamed in protest, a hot spike of pain that made me gasp. I would have fallen if Daska hadn't caught me, his hands steady on my shoulders.
Okay. Point made.
He said something that sounded almost like scolding, and before I could protest further, he'd wrapped the bedding fur tightly around my body and scooped me up like I weighed nothing.
"Wait, I can—" But the objection died in my throat as he adjusted his grip, one arm under my knees, the other supporting my back. He was sowarm, and solid, and I could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat through his chest.
