The man turned toward her with a shuffling step very different from the grace she recalled. He looked irritated to see her, but replied anyway. “Better? No, Thymara, not better. But soon perhaps I shall be.” His voice sounded thick as if his throat were very dry. She wondered if he were slightly drunk, then rebuked herself for thinking such a thing. He had been very ill; that was all.

As he turned away from her without any farewell, she saw that he carried a heavy wooden case. That burden was what had made him awkward on the ladder. He walked leaning to one side as if it were almost too heavy for him. She nearly ran after him to offer to help him with it, but she stopped herself. Surely a man would be humiliated for her to see how weakened he was. Best to leave him alone and let him manage.

She set off to find Sintara among the dragons. Her bedroll bounced on her back as she walked. After three steps, she un-slung it and carried it clutched to her chest. The rasp on her arm was scabbed over and healing fast, but the long scratch down the top half of her spine didn’t seem to be healing at all. Elsewhere, her scales had mostly protected her from Mercor’s teeth, but there they had given way. Sylve had first noticed it when she insisted that Thymara take off her shirt so that she could bandage her arm. “What is this?” the girl had asked her.

“What is what?” Thymara had asked her, shivering still.

“This,” Sylve said and touched a spot between her shoulder blades. The touch hurt, as if she had prodded an abscess. “It’s like you cut it and it closed. When did this happen?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m going to let it drain,” Sylve said, and before Thymara could forbid it, the girl had flicked away the edge of a scab. She’d felt warm liquid trickle down her back and turned to see Sylve’s expression of distaste as she dabbed at it. But the scaled girl had spoken no word of disgust as she prodded it and then poured clean water over it and bandaged it. It should have begun to heal. But the cut festered and was swollen and sore and sometimes oozing in the morning. She had nothing to treat it with, and no desire to expose her lizard body to anyone’s scrutiny. It would heal, she told herself stubbornly. She always healed. It was just taking longer this time. And hurting more.

The hunters had not fared well today. She smelled no meat, only river fish cooking on the fire. Once, she had enjoyed fish and regarded it as a rare treat. Now, even as hungry as she felt, she decided her dry meat would be enough.