dream a little dream of me | Glowfic Constellation

His leg is ...

... healed.

Mostly, anyway. It's still red and angry, a knotted raised weal stretching across the breadth of his leg, but the skin is new and fresh like it's been healing for a month, not scabby and weeping like it's a few days old.

"Uh."

of-the-west

He cracks an eye open and observes Camillo with his pants on the floor.

“…absolutely not.”

Shutting his eyes again now.

He wasn't actually trying to get laid but now he kind of wants to argue for it anyway.

"...leg's healing up better than I expected."

of-the-west

“Right. Your first war wound.”

He’s very cautiously nibbling at a piece of meat.

It feels a little like stolen valor. He didn't earn that war wound.

"Is this normal? I -- haven't seen many."

of-the-west

He takes a long look.

“…as far as I know, yes.”

"Huh."

He thinks about making a case for a blowjob after all, thinks better of it, and puts his pants back on.

"She wants me on a scouting party. To read things."

of-the-west

“—oh, does she.”

Now he looks interested.

“Did she say what? Or why?”

"To the southwest, she says. I read the language, that's all -- she didn't say why she was scouting that way."

of-the-west

“Well, it’s convenient for you, in any case. You’ll be spending quite a lot of time together.”

Distracted dreamy eyes.

of-the-west

“…to kill her,” he reminds him.

Buzzkill. "Yeah, I know."

of-the-west

“Not feeling so urgent any longer?”

"I don't have to like the woman to admire her." Also he likes her sooooo much but Anatole doesn't need to know that.

of-the-west

“Fair enough.”

He returns to closing his eyes and waiting for the painkillers to kick in. And he holds out the packet in Camillo’s vague direction.

It goes in his boot.

"I don't imagine you're likely to be coming."

of-the-west

“…no, of course I wouldn’t,” he says, as if he himself has just put all the pieces together for the first time.

"...it's probably good, really. They're less likely to connect you to anything."

Not that it matters. Since Anatole will stop existing. It's really hard to remember that.

of-the-west

“…Maybe so.”

He slides out of bed and opens the chest again, starts to dig through it.

"Don't take a second dose, just wait for it to start working!"

Camillo has had this drilled into him at great length.

of-the-west

“That’s not what I’m looking for — don’t yell,” he says, wincing.

He unwraps a small silver pendant from a scrap of leather and shuts the box again.

"I wasn't yelling," Camillo objects, in a slightly more moderated tone.

of-the-west

“Whatever it is, I have too much of a headache for it.”

He climbs back onto the bed, and takes Camillo’s hand to drop the pendant into his palm.

It’s a small disc of silver, with a unicorn rampant stamped into it.