"There's wounded. I need to—"
"Dara's got them."
"But—"
"You've done enough."
I haven't. There are bodies to move. Wounds to treat. People I don't know the names of standing in the middle of my clearing with no swords and somewhere to go now—because Keer knew I would ask.
My knees buckle.
He catches me. Both hands, holding me up, the heat of him against my back for one second before he steadies me upright.
"Okay," I hear myself say. "Maybe I'll sit down."
Dara takes over the healing station. Someone presses food into my hands—I don't remember eating but the bread is gone so I must have. Wolves moving around me, carrying bodies, building fires, doing the thousand tasks that come after not dying. I try to help three times.
I sit.
The clearing goes quiet. Wolves in human form now, some of them pulling on clothes, some just sitting in the dirt with their arms around their knees. Two men carrying a body between them, careful, steady. The pyres won't happen until tomorrow. For now, the dead are laid out near the western wall, wrapped in hide, side by side.
Dara finds me sometime in the late afternoon. Plants herself in front of me. Hands on her hips.
"You're done."
"I'm sitting. I've been done."
"You're done for the day. Dwelling. Sleep."
"I'm not tired."
"You're swaying while sitting, Melori."
"That's a balance issue."
"Go. I'll tie you down if I have to."
"...only if Keer does the tying."
I gasp. My hand smacks over my mouth too late.
Dara's eyebrows climb.
"...I didn't say that."
"You did."
"I didn't mean to say that."
"And yet."
"Pretend you didn't hear it."
"No."
"Dara."
"I'm keeping that. Forever."
