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you?”
The stark need in his voice ripped at her,
but she stepped back. “I ...” She scanned the
cave, blocking out the way his eyes guttered at
her retreat. Across the chamber, the great lake
flowed, smooth and flat as a black mirror. “I
need to bathe,” she said, her voice low and
raw. Even if there wasn’t a mark on her
beyond dirty feet. “I need to wash it away,”
she tried again.
Understanding softened his eyes. He
pointed with a tattooed hand to the trough
nearby. “There are a few extra cloths for you
to wash with.” Dragging a hand through his
silver hair, longer than she’d last seen it—in
this world, this truth, at least—he added, “I
don’t know how, but they also found some of
your old clothes from Mistward and brought
them here.”
But words were becoming distant again,