“It’s like he’s more there than anyone…no, that’s not right. It’s like he’s so nowhere-else. If you see?”

“Mm, maybe. How old is he really? I’ve had trouble figuring that out—”

Suppressed ground or no, someone was bound to notice the swamp reek wafting from the hall on the humid summer air pretty soon. Dag unquirked his lips, knocked on the doorframe, and stepped inside.

Saun lay abed wearing, above, only his bandages; the rest, however clothed, was covered by a sheet. Fawn, in her blue dress, sat leaning back in a chair with her bare feet up on the bed edge, catching, presumably with her wriggling toes, whatever faint breeze might carry from the window. For once, her hands were empty, but Saun’s brown hair showed signs of being recently combed and rebraided into two neat, workman-like plaits.

Dag was greeted with broad smiles on two faces equally fresh with youth and pale with recent injury. Both hurt near-fatally on his watch—now, there was a thought to cringe from—but their expressions showed only trust and affection. He tried to muster a twinge of generational jealousy, but their beauty just made him want to weep. Not good. Six days on patrol with nary a malice sign shouldn’t leave him this tired and strange.

“How de’, Spark. Lookin’ for you. Hello, Saun. How’re the ribs?”

“Better.” Saun sat up eagerly, his flinch belying his words. “They have me walking up and down the hall now. Fawn here’s been keeping me company.”

“Good!” said Dag genially. “And what have you two found to talk about?”

Saun looked embarrassed. “Oh, this and that.”

Fawn returned more nimbly, “Why were you looking for me?”

“I have something to show you. In the stable, so find your shoes.”

“All right,” she said agreeably, and rose.

Her bare feet thumped away up the hallway, and he called after her, “Slow down!” He did not consider himself a wit, but this fetched her usual floating laugh. In her natural state, did she ever travel at any pace other than a scamper?

He studied Saun, wondering if any warning-off might be in order here. That the broad-shouldered youth was attractive to women, he’d had occasion to note, if never before with concern. But in Saun’s current bashed state, he was no menace to curious farmer girls, Dag decided. And cautions might draw counterquestions Dag was ill equipped to answer, such as, What business is it of yours? He settled on a friendly wave farewell and started to withdraw into the hall again.

“Oh, Dag?” called Saun. “Old patroller?” He grinned from his propping pillows.

“Yes?” Blight it, when had the boy picked up on that catchphrase? Saun must have paid closer attention to Dag’s occasional mutters than he would have guessed.