The Mist and the Lightning

Chapter 10                              After a crazy and sleepless night, Kors didn’tremember how he fell into a deep and restful dreamless sleep. This had not happened to him for a long time, therefore, opening his eyes, he was very surprised and looked dumbfounded at Nik, who was gently tuggingat his shoulder, affectionately repeating: “Vitor, daddy, wake up!” “Yes, yes,” Kors replied, not really understanding what he wanted from him yet. He felt good. He was full of wonderful emotions and memories of a magical night. Nothing was hurting. And his cock didn’t fail him the night before, which he was also incredibly happy about. Everything was amazing. “Oh, Nik, I fell asleep, what time is it?” “Two in the afternoon, I think,” Nik thought for a moment, “fourteen hours,” he added, but not very confidently. “Gods, it’s already two in the afternoon!” Kors sat up abruptly, realizing only now that he was lying on a pair of skins thrown on the floor. But how sweetly he slept on them! Truly they say, with beloved, even a hut is heaven. Just for how long? Nik shrugged his shoulders. “Two hours, so what? Why is it always important to you?” “Because time is of tremendous value.” “Really tremendous?” Nik asked with some disbelief. “Yes, vitally important!” Kors looked at him, still bandaged, and felt very sorry for him. Nik, under such an attentive look, was embarrassed and quickly straightened his bangs, shifting it to the side, so that his eyes were visible in the gap between the bandages. He learned and remembered that Kors didn’t like it very much when his hair covered his face, and hastily removed them, as if his father would now reprimand him and begin to scold him, and this also pleased Kors. “What about desire?” Nik asked. “Aren’t desires more important than time?” “What does desire has to do with it?” Kors didn’tunderstand. “Well, it’s just that the rain has stopped, and it’s time for us to get ready for the road,” Nik said, shaking his head awkwardly, and, having risen heavily, moved away from Kors. “I’ll be ready in ten minutes,” Kors replied. “Should I order Verniy to fetch your horse?” “No. I myself will order Parky to do something useful. He’s been acting disgusting lately.” “Hmmm,” Nik agreed, already clinking bottles. Kors stretched sweetly, and, still in a good mood, mentally called Parky, addressing him: “Parky! This is your hangman. Set down the camp and bring my horse to the White Lord’s tent.” Parky didn’t react to the “joke” and immediately answered him absolutely neutrally: “Yes, commander.” Like nothing happened yesterday. Very quickly – Kors had just managed to get dressed – his captain appeared near their tent. He rode on his horse, and without any rope, Grrkh obediently followed him, who still had neither a saddle nor a harness. Verniy immediately began to saddle it for Kors, and Kors, already in words, asked his foolish wolf if everything was in order in their camp, and heard the usual answer that everything was in perfect order. “Tell Adrian to come here, let him ride next to me,” Kors ordered, “and you watch the carts.” “Yes, Commander,” Parky saluted, and they parted.               Kors didn’t care about Parky now, he no longer wanted to beat him and punish him. The anger subsided, replaced by an overshadowing joy from the fact that Nik didn’t stop loving him. However, a little later, when they were already driving along the road, Kors, a little moving away from the initial euphoria, began to think about what had really happened? Did he manage to get away with it? Or not? Nik and Arel won’t pressure him anymore? Kors dodged the “reflection” with an iron bar? He couldn’t give an exact answer and a guarantee to this.              They rode all day. And Kors felt tired. A surge of strength and joy passed, as if he borrowed them, and here it is – repayment with interest. He barely made it to a short halt, literally slipping off his horse and falling on the skin near the fire lit by Verniy. Valentine began to boil some stinking rubbish in a pot. Nik and Arel were in no hurry to leave their horses. Standing next to them, they examined them and discussed something quietly. Arel lifted the front leg of his Beauty with his hand, leaning towards it and carefully examining his knee joint. Kors realized that he was madly wanting to drink or take a reducing agent. He lay on the skin on his side. The smell of Valentine’s stew seemed unbearable, he was sick, and every minute more and more. “So be it,” Kors thought doomedly, and as soon as Nik approached the halt site, Kors nervously sat down and asked: “Nik, will you give me the restorative?” In his heart, Kors was even afraid that Nik would suddenly refuse him and not give him the restorative. But Nik immediately took out a box from his bag. Moreover, he said: “Here, take it for several days at once, so as not to ask every time,” and handed Kors a couple of small glass bottles. Tightly sealed, they retained within themselves a concentrate of restorative power. “Do you have something to dilute it? Or should I give you?” he asked Kors, also sympathetically. “I have, Nik, thanks…”          After a couple of hours they went on, and Kors didn’t regret at all that he had taken the drug, perfectly aware that otherwise he simply wouldn’t have been able to continue the journey. And now, having eaten Valentine’s stew with relish, he felt quite cheerful on a horse. And so it continued. On short halts, Kors took the restorative, and after that he could go further in a good mood. After about three or three and a half hours, he began to get sick, and his mood deteriorated. Hishead became heavy, and unpleasant sensations rolled in a panic wave, knocking down the breath. His body was covered with sticky sweat, and he had no strength to remain in the saddle. But, fortunately, they often stopped for short halts, and Kors immediately “cheered up” in this way, interrupting from hour to hour and enduring this tedious road. The unclean ones rode day and night. Nothing special happened. But it was enough for Kors that Nik was there. He didn’t talk much to Kors, he was silent and seemed to be tired, exhausted, but he didn’t drive Kors away and didn’t humiliate him. During the halts, Nik didn’t part with his crutch and could hardly walk, strongly dragging his lame leg. His face was still covered with bandages, and he, too, was taking the “restorative”, Kors saw with bitterness that bleeding ulcers reappeared on his son’s arms. At one of the next short halts, Nik threw back his hood with some anger, and, moving the hair covering his face to the side, pressed his hand to the bandage on his mutilated cheek: “Oh-oh-oh...” “Nik, are you hurt? What’s up with you?” Kors immediately became alarmed. “It twitches terribly and itches under the bandages,” Nik complained. Kors really liked that, in spite of everything, Nik answered him, it was enough to address him and ask a question. Sometimes in monosyllables, but he answered. And it seemed to Kors that even if Nik himself didn’t want this, he seemed to be unable to help answering. Kors didn’t fully understand the reasons for this behavior. Either this was the law of the Demon’s interaction with people, or obedience hammered into the subcortex of Nik’s brain in front of true blacks. But Kors already understood that he had to turn to Nik, call him by name and then ask a question. Then, realizing that the question was asked to him, Nik couldn’t help answering, couldn’t get away. Yes, he could not even continue the conversation, but he couldn’t but answer and not remain silent. And if he said: “Nik, I asked you a question, answer me...” and then asked, Nik, no matter how he evaded before and tried to remain silent or snap back, answered. And he answered truthfully. It even seemed funny to Kors how the Demon always reacted to the appeal to him – “Nik”, clearly without a doubt considering him his name in this world, although Kors himself didn’t like this name very much. It was too short, like most commoners’, consisting of only three letters, and immediately made it clear that Nik was not from the master race. At times, Kors was angry at Arel for calling his son that, a primitive shortening of the name. But Nik himself, unlike Kors, seemed to be happy with everything. “Take off the bandages!” Kors asked. “Are you kidding me? For all this to flow onto my chest?” Nik answered irritably, continuing to press his hand to his face. He swore in unclean language, clearly indicating how tired he was of all this. “Gods…” Kors was discouraged, “forgive me for my stupid treatment. How to stop it now?” “I don’t fucking know!” Nik opened his mouth, trying to take deep breaths through the gap cut in the bandages. “It’s hard to breathe...” Kors was really excited. These last warm days were really unbearably stuffy, and Nik, under his bandages, must have had a really hard time. “Take the rings out of your nose,” said Kors, “they prevent you from breathing normally.” “No. Leave me alone!” “Nik, I want it to be the best, to make you feel better! Pull out the ring!” “I said no! If you need it so much, pull out your own one, and leave me and my rings alone!” Kors grabbed his nose with his hand, touching his fingers to a thin ring that fit snugly against his nostril: “Can I?” “Ask Arel!” “Aaah, I see,” Kors removed his hand from his nose in annoyance, “nothing new, just your usual play on weaknesses. So, you know, I won’t even ask the prince, let alone plead! Because of you, I am tattooed, painted with strange signs, all in punctures. You let the prince mark me as a thing. And now you’re teasing me!” “You are beautiful. You are one of us, and you are beautifully decorated,” Nik answered without responding to the accusations. “Your father is the marked thing of Prince Arel! And you allowed it to happen!” “There is nothing wrong with that, and Arel loves you very much.” Kors just waved his hand in annoyance. “It’s useless to discuss...” Nik also didn’t continue the conversation. He sat hunched over with his tightly wrapped head bowed low. It was clear that he wasn’t in the mood to talk right then. He was breathing heavily through a parted mouth, and a thick shiny ring with a black bead strung on it stuck out from under the bandages under his nose. Without waiting for any more reaction from Nik, Kors involuntarily shifted his gaze to Valentine, who was curled up in a ball nearby. The poor guy in his helmet felt obviously worse. His mouth was covered with a wide leather shield, and the holes under his nose were very small. Valentin sat crouched, as if trying to take up as little space as possible. Verniy, tightening the lacing at the back of his head, always left his thin, funny braid outside, and Valentine constantly fiddled with its tip. This habit had formed since the gloves were put on him, and he could no longer scrape and comb the skin with his nails as before. But Valentine found a new way of distraction, now constantly nervously tugging at his already fairly grown hair. “Here’s another unfortunate one,” Kors remarked, “but at least he is tormented not by his stupidity, but by the stupidity of his master, who had bricked him up.” And Nik didn’t object to him and was not indignant. But Valentine’s situation was more hopeless, because sooner or later Nik could remove the bandages, and Arel was not going to remove the helmet from Valentine. The prince just at that moment approached them, finally distracting himself from his horse, and before sitting down next to him, for no reason, he perceptibly kicked Valentine with his foot, knocking him over backwards. Noticing Kors’ gaze on him, Arel arrogantly asked: “What?” “Nothing,” said Kors, shaking his head, “nothing.” After resting for a while, they set off again. Nik didn’tcover his head with a hood, and Kors endlessly admired his hair. The back of Nik’s head was wrappedin bandages, but beyond that, his hair lay in a fluffy white mop on his back, and Kors kept his eyes on it. It was until Nik finally said to him accusingly: “Well, maybe that’s enough?” “I myself don’t understand why I’m so crazy about it,” Kors justified himself, embarrassed, “your hair is my fetish. Hair is dead, how can there be so much warmth, so much life in it? Why do people go crazy for them? You didn’t do anything, you were just born and – hop!” “Do you want to have the same?” Nik asked. “No!” “Then shut up. You think about me all the time, how much can you do it?” “Yes. You are everywhere. I look into the glass and see not wine, but you. I take bread and bring to my mouth not a piece of bread, but I touch your lips. I hear music and hug you. I look at the sky, I see the whiteness of the clouds and involuntarily compare them with the whiteness of your hair. I look at the ground and see your footprints. I look at the fire and I want you. I look at the water and remember your smell. It seems to me that I will lift a stone and you will be there!” “What a chatterbox you are,” Nik drawled wearily, but didn’t put on his hood, and Kors tried to save him at least for a while from his annoying attention and uncontrolled lust. It seems to have worked and brought results. After a while, Nik, realizing that Kors was no longer “wanking to him”, turned to him himself. They were driving very close, and Nik said: “Vitor, I need to teach you so that you change, become different from what you are now. Try Please. You can do it...”  Blah blah... Kors listened to his voice, completely unlike any other, quiet and hoarse, and imagined that he could talk like that himself if he caught, for example, a sore throat. Because their voices were very similar. But there was a difference, something else in Nik’s voice, something deep and alien, especially if he raised his voice and got angry. But now he was not angry, but just chatted nicely, or rather, explained to Kors about training and development. “Are you listening to me at all?!” Nik suddenly asked with some indignation. “You said that I never listen to you, but you don’t listen to me the same way!” “I’m listening, I’m listening. Adept, initiation,” said Kors. “Did I say that? Such words?” Nik asked, puzzled. “No, of course you said it more simply, but the meaning is the same.” Nik paused. “Okay, you have understood... I guess…” But Kors didn’t understand. He didn’t understand what was now between them? How will their relationship develop further? He got confused. Nik loves him, Kors was convinced of this. But at the same time, Nik never revealed his face to him. And, since Nik didn’t continue the conversation, Kors involuntarily again plunged into his fruitless reflections. “Nik told me: “You will not see my human face again,” and for all these days he has not changed his word. He didn’t accept any help in healing from me and threatened that he would hit me if I asked him about the scar one more time. Inside the tent, he ordered me to kneel naked. So how does he feel about me? Like before? Or no more? Isn’t he pushing harder now just because we’re on the road? What will happen when the journey ends? Will the humiliation continue? Well, Zaf wouldn’t just warn me like that. And at the table, Zaf told me: “He just needs to work with you, complete a task with you, but he doesn’t want to, he loves you.” What is this task? Another order from the Supreme Demon? Why doesn’t Nik want to do it? Because he loves and pities me. Does this mean the training will be tough? At the moment, I managed to avoid heavy losses. Yes, I was slightly humiliated, but no longer blinded or beaten. Not only that, I was loved! I was loved!” But when Kors began to think about what the prince had experienced during his training, he became afraid. He involuntarily remembered Adrian’s words: “The motto of the White Lord is FEAR NOTHING, and I was afraid. I got scared and began to fall down. He wanted the best, I myself didn’t listen to him, didn’t believe him and gave up. I didn't hear what they were saying. As a result, I fell lower and lower. ” You can’t be afraid. You can’t give free rein to fear, and then everything can turn out in a positive way. Not to be afraid... “Nik?” Kors called, and he turned slowly to him. “Why did you deceive me? Why didn’t you tell me that your motto is ‘Fear nothing’?” “What?! Why do you think so?” “It doesn’t matter. You told me: ‘I don’t have a motto,’and I believed you and offered my own version. I said, ‘I think your motto is ‘Ask for nothing.’ And you agreed with me, led me astray. And then it turned out that you have a motto ‘Fear nothing’.” “Don’t be afraid, don’t ask,” Nik said thoughtfully, “Vitor, it seems you really came up with a motto for me.” “So how am I supposed to believe you now?” Kors said sadly. “Don't believe me,” Nik replied indifferently and turned away. The endless journey continued, and Kors lost count, for the umpteenth time they halted. “Nik, eat, you don’t eat anything at all for several days, you can’t do that!” Kors immediately began, as soon as they settled down by the fire. “Your condition worries me! Let me cook for you, shall I? And not this slop that Valentin cooks. Do you want?” “No, no, only not that, don’t start...” “It’s good that I got rid of my dad! Now no one bothers me now,” Prince Arel remarked. “Nik, I am your father, and you deceived me,” he mimicked Kors, copying his intonation very accurately, “I gave you beauty for which you don’t thank me. I treated you and took care of you, and you spat on my efforts. I did everything for you, lost my reputation. Me, me, me, and you... You are a deceiver! You didn’t appreciate my sacrifices, didn’t obey me, didn’t pray to me as to a god, because I am higher in the hierarchy and more important. You dare not admit it, ungrateful. You humiliated me, hit me. How could you! He pleads non-stop. Nik, how do you handle it?” “I can still hear what’s in his head,” Nik said. “Shouldn’t I think? If you don’t like it, don’t listen! I didn’t ask you!” Kors responded immediately. “Well, I wouldn’t say that you think...” Kors froze. “Nik...why do I always want to hit you?” Arel moved closer to Kors and knocked him to the ground, leaning on top. He smiled, obviously playing with him like that. “Oh-oh-oh,” Kors lay obediently, pressed by Arel. And he kissed him on the lips: “Do you love me, Vitor?” “Yes,” Kors answered honestly, returning the kiss. “Am I ungrateful too?” “Yes! But at least you are more honest, not such a deceiver. You don’t respect me anymore, but still I love you, and I love Nik very much. You humiliate me, tease me, but I still respond to your call, I run to you with all my might, as soon as you beckon, like a stupid ram to the slaughter.” “Why a ram?” Arel laughed. “Because I have horns!” And Arel laughed again, let him go, but only to lie down comfortably next to him and unbutton his fly. Grabbing Kors from behind by the base of his ponytail, he commandingly pressed on the back of his head. Kors obediently bowed down and began to satisfy the prince with his mouth, hearing Arel moan softly, and trying even harder. For them, Kors no longer had pride and dignity. He was ready to do anything for them. When finished, Kors reached for the bottle and took a sip of wine, rinsing out his mouth. He looked at Arel.He was very pleased. Beautiful, arrogant and contented face. “The depraved rubbish of noble blood,” thought Kors, unable to stop admiring the prince, seeing his slightly mocking smile and the edge of his front tooth chipped so ugly. Kors remembered how he beat and scolded Arel for this imprudence, but now he no longer considered this a disadvantage, on the contrary, it seemed to him that, probably, only this defect was the last thing Arel had left of a person, which made him alive and warm. How long ago it was… Arel is a little over twenty years old, but he is already broken, embittered by prison, hysterical and aggressive. He is constantly drunk, and endlessly gets involved in ridiculous fights. Kors sees him fall and can do nothing to help. It pains him to watch how Arel falls down and, coming to meet him, each time looks worse and worse. Risking his reputation, Kors nevertheless referred him to a good doctor. It was dangerous, and unnecessary rumors might spread among Kors’ friends and colleagues, but he couldn’t see Arel with his nose broken and his teeth knocked out. The doctor treating the king himself helped, but when Arel came to Kors once again and, trained, began to smile politely at him, Kors saw that his new teeth were already damaged. Kors was stunned, furious and annoyed. He was very offended. He risked his position, but his gesture was not appreciated, his gift was not treated with care. It was the end of their relationship. Kors smiled sadly to himself, remembering that time. He brought up and forced Arel to change, shouting, kicking and lectures, eventually making a conclusion for himself – “doesn’t change.” And it was necessary to educate him with love and affection, the way Kors raised Nik. But, unfortunately, he realized this too late, and he missed Arel, now there’s nothing to fix, and he has to live with it... It is not known whether Arel heard him or not, but he again reached out to Kors, put him next to him and affectionately kissed his nose on his ring, on his cheeks and forehead, and Kors was pleased. He closed his eyes, enjoying Arel’s kisses. Nik called out softly: “Hey guys! It’s time for us to go, people are already in the empty lands and have come to the crossing.” They hurried to leave, but the weather turned bad again. The stifling heat gave way to a deafening downpour with a thunderstorm. I had to stop and set up a solid camp. “Should I order to set up my tent?” Kors asked. And Nik replied: “No. You live with us.” Hearing his answer, Kors was frightened and delighted at the same time. Yes, he was scared, but still it was better than a meaningless vegetative life alone. Kors was the last to enter their tent, and without prompting he obediently knelt at the threshold. Andsuddenly, Kors didn’t even have time to understand anything, Arel hit him. He hit him with all his might in the face, just like that, and for nothing, without warning. Kors literally had sparks in his eyes. He fell on his side, curled up on the floor, clutching his eyes with his hands. “Gods, he’ll gouge my eye out, I’ll be blind like Valentine,” flashed through his head. How hard Arel beat! A heavy hand and not a drop of pity. Kors didn’t understand this, because Arel treated him well, recently he caressed and kissed him, why wasthat now? Well, simply because Arel didn’t know how to do it differently. For him there was no difference, and love for him was inextricably linked with violence, and he also didn’t know how to beat at half strength, he didn’t beat, he habitually killed. And Kors was not used to beatings, he had never been beaten before. Nobody dared to raise a hand against him, and in battlehe acted with a sword. Only lately has he been receiving blows from Nik and Arel and getting into ridiculous fights with Lis and Varakh, but this was an exception to the rule. His head was ringing, his eyes were full of multicolored spots. “Arel, don’t do it,” suddenly, as if in a fog, he heard Nik’s voice, and Kors, to his surprise, clearly caught undisguised worry in his voice. “No need?” Arel asked with some misunderstanding and challenge. Kors screwed his courage and sit up straight, removed his hands from his face. The eye he had just been hit in couldn’t see anything. Kors didn’t utter a sound, didn’t ask for mercy, just looked up and looked at them. Two “his dear boys.” And Nik, suddenly turning around, abruptly grabbed his crutch and quickly left the tent. Kors and Arel were silent for a while. “I can’t live like this,” Kors said at last, “I’m not like you, and I’m not used to being treated like that. You are killing me, I’m scared.” “Vitor, I was also afraid at first,” Arel answered, “I have already gone through all this a long time ago. I went crazy with love for him and at the same time I was afraid of him and didn’t understand. I didn’tunderstand his tattoos and jewelry, suffered from how terrible he looked and from the fact that he was a cripple, and at the same time wanted him every minute. I understood that he was destroying me, and I was afraid for my body. I screamed that he was killing me, I wanted to remain human. I resisted. I was doing all this, maybe even more than you. I just went through all of this before. And all attempts to stop him aremeaningless and useless. Humble yourself. You will never defeat him. Humble yourself, submit, and accept it now as his gift to you.” “Arel...” “Yes, the stupid handsome prince tells you this,” Arel grinned, “go to him, bring him back.” “But what shall I tell him?” “Think yourself.” Kors stepped out into the darkness of the night. The storm subsided, but it was drizzling with light rain. Kors knew where he could find Nik, he didn’t know how, but he KNEW. Without hesitation, he headed for the shed where their horses were tied. A lone glass lantern with a candle inside, suspended from one of the poles, dimly illuminated the space. Nik was sitting next to his horse, and he was lying on a bed of hay, turning his black head towards him, and Nik slowly and affectionately, somehow detached, but at the same time with obvious love, stroked his nose, ran his hand from top to bottom. The horse lay with its muzzle exposed to him, and covered its eyes in pleasure. “Forgive me for disturbing your idyll…” Nik raised his head. “What do you want, tall daddy?” “Sorry, it’s not my fault that I’m tall. I’m just a true black.” “Okay, what do you want, true black daddy sir?” “I don’t understand what is going on…” “I don’t want to break you, that’s all. Without it, you won’t change.” “But then you won’t be able to complete your task.” “Yes, so be it.” “But you will be punished!” “I’m used to it.” “No, no, let’s do it! Throw away all your love for me! Torment me, don’t be sorry, and give your Demons as much energy and suffering from me as they need!” “You misunderstand...” “Nik!” “I don’t want.” “Should I hurt myself? Ask Arel to beat and torture me? He helps you. Now he has helped you. I want you to complete the task with me! Break me like a hurdy-gurdy so I can play another tune!” “No, you don’t understand what you’re asking for, and you really don’t want it!” “I want! Get up! Let’s go!” Kors held out a hand to help him up. Nik accepted the help, and, leaning on his crutch, followed Kors. They approached the tent, and Kors, seeing a dirty puddle near the entrance, suddenly collapsed on his knees into it. “Okay!” He shouted. “You see? I myself am kneelingin front of you in the mud! I want this!” Nik shook his head. “No,” he answered softly and very calmly. “Yes! I want! Want! Fulfill your mission with me! I want my Mission!” kneeling in a muddy puddle, Kors threw back his head with some anger and looked at the black stormy sky covered with low heavy clouds: “Fucking Gods! Fucking God! You hear me?! I don’tneed you anymore! Don’t need!” Kors thumped the water with his clenched fists several times, splattering mud. The heavens remained silent, but, apparently attracted by his cries, Prince Arel came out of the tent. Kors turned to him. “Arel, come on! Well?! Dip me in the shit!” But Arel didn’t move, didn’t budge. Kors literally howled from powerlessness: “Humiliate me! Punish me! What are you worth?! Me, true black, crawl in front of you in the mud like a worm! Enjoy! Or is that not enough for you?!” And, as they were still standing and silently looking at him, in some outburst of hopeless despair, Kors scooped up a handful of liquid mud from a puddle and rubbed this liquid over his face, not sparing himself, smearing the mud on his cheek and lips: “What else can I do? Look at me! I am your! I’m as dirty now as you!” Arel turned around and, without saying a word, went into the tent. And Nik, passing by Kors and no longer looking at him, silently left after him. Kors was leftalone in a puddle, wet and dirty. Somewhere in the distance, lightning flashed, nothing happened. Kors rose from his knees. Dirty water dripped from his leather pants and expensive boots. Stunned by their indifference and not understanding what was happening, he perplexedly sat down on some kind of wooden block near the wall of the tent. He didn’t know what to do. He tried to wipe the dirt off his face: “Fuuuck...” Verniy approached him, in his paws he carried a bucket of clean water and a rag: “Wash yourself, sir, and go better to the tent,” said the dog and quickly looked up at the sky, “a thunderstorm will soon begin.” Kors looked at him gloomily with his now unswolleneye and silently took the rag. He washed his face and dried his clothes as best he could. Proudly straightening his back, he entered the tent, trying not to look at them. Nik and Arel were sitting at the table. They didn’t eat, didn’t smoke. Kors didn’t stop at the threshold, didn’t kneel. With a crash, he pulled a chair up to the trestle bed, took off his wet clothes and hung them neatly on it. He lay down on the trestle bed, on his side, defiantly turning away from them, but still leaving some place for Arel, and covered his head with a brocade blanket. They continued to sit at the table, not taking any action, and still silent, not talking to each other, and not saying anything to him. Under the thick blanket, Kors warmed up, and the small shivering stopped pounding him. He heard torrents of rain fall on the roof of their tent, and the wind began to beat furiously against the walls. “I just need to try to sleep.”