Rex let out a long, exhausted sigh and looked down.
Nera was still fast asleep, cheek pressed against his blood-stained bicep like it was the softest pillow in the world.
Short black hair stuck to her forehead in damp clumps.
Her breathing was deep and even, completely dead to the world after the fight and the long walk through the storm.
He carefully slid his arm free.
She made a tiny, unhappy sound but didn't wake up.
Rex sat up slowly, every cut across his chest and shoulders protesting, and stared at the soaked, mud-streaked Shydrym robe still clinging to her small frame.
"Won't she get a fever in this…?" he muttered. "And… how did she even get one Shydrym Robe?".
Another heavy sigh left him.
Well, he was dizzy, light-headed from blood loss, and the last thing he wanted was more work and leaving her in the freezing wet clothes felt wrong.
He forced himself to move.
Rex started with the robe.
