he burns. she is quiet beside.
he had plucked her from the snow, and while he cannot explain how he came to be lying here, in the possession of a shadow-woman who thrummed with the energy of a bone priestess.
she whispers and he rouses.
tugix is bleary. the fire rages beneath his skin, and when he rolls, it brings him face to face with the wolf from the snow, who soothed his wounds and brought him here. aorta-man grunts. he tastes his stale mouth, feels the tear of his flesh.
he groans, but his name sets the eyes to waking slits.
muradoii has barely returned to himself. he craves the black sea and the bone shelter, but he is too weak to pull himself up.
in time, a low rolling tone indicates the child.