Ashes Nate, what did they do to you? Since he was getting his information from Garhald, he thought he knew what he was in for. He had come back from a mission raving mad and feral. According to scuttlebutt, he had even tried biting Maever. They were letting visitors in now so he had to be safe to be around, or he was thoroughly sedated. Still, he felt bad for not visiting earlier.
He pushed the door open with a knock, unsure what he’d find. His friend's haggard form drew his eyes before anything else. Weeks in a hospital bed had left him looking scruffier than usual. His cheeks were pale and sunken beneath the beard, and if he was conscious, he didn't show it. People had already been through with gifts, and the Drin, Alrim sat by his bed side talking.
Closing the door behind him, Alric pulled a small flask from his pocket and took a drink. He doubted the Drin would have any complaints. Screwing the cap back on, he said, “You'll be sad to learn, I didn't have to fight my way through a crowd of weeping women to get here”
Alric flashes an almost schoolboyish grin before it was consumed by an exhausted sigh. “Light, Scruffs, we seriously need to stop meeting like this.”
To Alrim he said, “You’re not going to tell anybody, right?” He slipped the flask beneath Nate's pillow. “I see Affie hasn't visited yet, there's not a banana in sight,” he said to the air between Nate and Alrim. The levity felt hollow to his ears. It was just, better than the alternative. He lay there, injured from events that happened the night of the ball, the same night there had been an attack in the city. It was just like last time, when they'd been soldiers. Did the Tower have plans for a counter attack? Improved safety? Or were they all just sitting ducks?
Unclenching his jaw with a sigh, Alric assessed Alrim directly, “You holding up ok?”







