"... Okay," he says. "Wh' do you want me to say?"

"Anything. Count to fifty a few hundred times, I don't care, just stay awake."

Iobel finds his shoulder again and touches her fingertips to it very very gently.

He doesn't complain at this touch. At thirty-seven he sighs and stops counting.

"Edarial."

"Nrrgh," he complains, and then he resumes.

Iobel tries to find a comfortable way to sit, given her leg. Eventually she winds up lying on her front next to her husband, fingetips still on his shoulder to remind her not to suddenly jostle him.

"Are you okay?" he asks, eventually. "Y' sound better off then me, but - are you okay...?"

"Broken leg. I've had worse just trying to climb stairs. I'll fix it come midnight."

"Okay. Good."

"I don't hear anyone trying to dig us out. Or any of the guards, but they aren't in this pocket whatever their condition, that I'm pretty sure of. It's small or our voices wouldn't echo like this."

"Mhmmm. Hope they're okay."

"Yeah. Me too."

Iobel lies there listening to him. Eventually Cricket trots over to her and curls up on her back.

After a while, he stops counting again, and whispers, "... Why are you worrying...?"

"You may have internal bleeding even if it's nothing Berathyme can smell, you could be dying, and if you're talking that'll let me know if you start to slip and I can start trying heroic measures like jostling the ceiling of this pocket we find ourselves in. And my head injury spell can't fix a coma if you fall into one, so you have to stay awake."

"Okay," he says. "Isabella can resurrect people, though."

"We don't know how that works with familiars, Edarial."

"Maybe you don't, but if it works the wrong way it may be that all Isabella can bring back is a nonbinder who can never try again, or worse, an unmade vegetable. So help me keep your binder awake."

"So count. Or talk about something else."

"Okay," he agrees. Then he goes back to counting.