That feeling when you nearly die saving someone only to have them handed over to what you were protecting them from while you're unconscious. -- RecklessPrudence
"Go," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "The people in that tavern are friendly. I just... I need a little rest." The last one, to be precise, but you don't tell a five-year-old any of that. "Go tell them who you are. They will help you."
She may be six in a few weeks, but I have never before beheld such a stoic child. She nods solemnly at my instructions and, my cloak both wrapped around and trailing behind her, she walks through the torch-lit street to the Belle Witch tavern. I fight to keep my eyes open long enough... so I can see her walk inside. My friends are there. My allies are there.
All will be well. An old man dies... so a young girl can live. It's a fair price to pay to see the Viseer lose the regency. Imagine my surprise when I wake again in a luxurious apartment, surrounded by expert healers. Now... I have slept in a lot of miserable places. The dank and miserable cold of a cell floor, the muddy loam of the forest floor. I've even snuggled in with bears and suchlike. They don't mind the smell. I'm most familiar with the straw palliasse of your average in. This? This was a genuine, honest-to-goodness feather bed. It was far too soft for me to stay asleep in it.