He had not noticed when the fox resumed, the warmth at his left side having restarted at some point between the first throw and the third evasion.
Lin apparently had decided that standing beside a person who was having compressed boulders thrown at them was not a reason to pause the healing process.
He was more than halfway recovered.
The ribs had returned to the category of cracked rather than broken, the left side's earlier throbbing pains having reduced to something that could be managed rather than critical.
He looked at Lin.
At the fox standing at his side, eyes steady, the healing warmth in its output unchanged by the boulders or the craters or the thirty-metre golem that was in the process of selecting another rock.
He almost smiled.
"Don't you think," he said, looking at Lin with the expression of someone who had a genuine question that was also genuinely amusing to ask, "that you should be dealing with that thing that's trying to kill your master?"
