Misty

Cole doesn’t tell me I should get some rest, and for that I’m eternally grateful. I pace the cabin, watching as he organizes and takes inventory of his medical kit. I remember the day I found out he was a physician. It had been a shock. My arm had been torn to the bone by a rabid, cursed wolf, and this man–this stranger who I thought was evil–sewed me back together again.

That feels like a lifetime ago. Maybe it was, honestly. Sometimes I wonder if our weeks in Richard’s fortress actually happened or if it were a fever dream. But the glint of lantern light on the sharpened...