“You weren’t, but I don’t think anybody cared; actually, those of us who were still able to think were trying to figure out if we’d have to get Crathach to mind-blast you to get you to stop being so infernally noble and self-sacrificing.” She lifted an eyebrow at him. “You saved us from that by neatly falling over.”

Well, he was cleaned up, at least; someone had done him that tremendous favor, and left him to sleep off his exhaustion in a clean white shirt and trews. The rest of his Whites were beside him on a chair. He started to reach for them—

“No,” he said aloud. “I put them on for Sendar, but I do not think I will wear Whites again. Not unless there is a pressing reason.”

Myste pursed her lips, but looked curiously satisfied, as if she thought she had been particularly clever. “I thought you might say that. So I stopped by your tent, and brought these.”

She pulled a basket out from under his cot—and there were his form of the Heraldic uniform; the dark gray leathers he had worn up until they had left Haven.

“Are you certain you are not an Empath?” he asked.

“No, I’m a Herald with work to do, and now that you’ve been informed that Her Majesty wants you, I need to go do it.” She softened her words with a slight smile, then suddenly reached out and took his hand.

“But I won’t always have work to do,” she said, giving it a slight squeeze. “And I find you excellent company because I don’t have to pretend or mince words around you.”

Then she picked up a crutch from beside her stool, stood up, and hobbled off.

He stared after her with bemusement.

:You really don’t know what to do with a woman who isn’t either untouchable or a whore, do you?: said that familiar, faintly mocking voice in his mind.

:Well, why don’t you teach me?: he shot back, stung, and reached for his familiar gray leathers.

:I might. But you’ll have to ask me nicely.:

His ears burned.

Changing swiftly, he headed out of the tent, intending to pause only long enough to tell one of the Healers that he would not be needing that cot beside Jadus anymore.

But the first Healer he ran into was a very familiar face, and one he had not expected to see tending to the wounded.

“Crathach!” he exclaimed, and seized the man’s arms, grasping him by the elbows with both hands. “But—Talamir—”

“Come see for yourself,” the Healer said, taking him by the elbow. Crathach led him out of the ranks of the Healers’ tents, and into the ring of command tents. Alberich could not help but notice some gaps, where tents had been—and felt a stab in his heart.