The first thing she noticed: her cloak was gone. Though it was flimsy protection from the human gaze, it was security nonetheless. Riona, soaked and shivering from their failed escape, inhaled the stale air hoarsely as her blurred vision struggled to focus. She felt as though she had been under for a long time, exploring in a dark, murky sea.

Then she remembered. The inn. Tennly. She stared up at the painted white ceiling, and felt Connor hovering beside her like an untrained healer tasked with the immense burden of curing her current ailment. His voice, low and scared, tried to give the impression of someone in control in this foreign environment.

“It’s all right. Sorry, I had to remove your cloak. It was sopping wet. No one’s been in here…”

She curled into the fetal position as she laid back on the bed, cradling her body with her good wing. The torn wing twitched. It was an effort, but the wing wrapped awkwardly around her left shoulder. She’d never felt this sick. Normally it was she who cared for Fingal, who even with his robust constitution, was not immune to illness.

“I know I should have removed the rest of your clothes, but we don’t have anything else for you to wear, and I didn’t want to leave you, and I didn’t want you to--”

Beside her, Connor sat in the chair. He was talking, always talking. He was still wearing his wet clothes. Foolish. Did he want to be sick?

For the rest of the episode, give it a listen!