Furrow sits down on the floor beside the cot. The wall his backrest as he sits next to Beauty who is in her carrier. Xinyi had shown Furrow around the room. Taking care to be sure Furrow knew where everything was and even described where everyone's rooms were down the hall.

The day's events tumble about in his mind. That Parshendi woman. The whitespines. The ardents. Palah and the Truthwatchers. His talk with Xinyi. Marith.

Marith.

So much has happened. So much doesn't make sense. His sudden strength in that fight. Sudden healing.

Certain that he is alone, he tentatively pulls his blindfold up.

Still blind.

Why am I relieved? Am I really? No, I'm also disappointed. How can you be both?

Anger and confusion wrestle their way in too. Sighing, he reaches into his pocket, retrieving the familiar stone. Furrow mulls over it all. Trying to recall everything Taszo told him about Stone Shamanism. Trying to think of... of what Taszo would do. What would he say. For any of this.

Furrow's heart seizes as he finds himself back in that storm. The air in the room won't find his lungs, seized heart suddenly racing. He can't breathe. He can't think. The feeling of clutching Taszo's hand in his as he brought him his stone. As he found him at last. Of Taszo using the strength he had left to press the rock into Furrow's palm. How it dug into his skin again. Right where it had sliced him during the fight. A wound that was gone then, too. It doesn’t make any sense. Taszo. Why?

Taszo's final words stumble into Furrow's mind, jumbled and out of order. They drown beneath Furrow’s own inner voice as it repetitively states;

I lost him. I lost him. I lost him I lost him I LOST HIM I LOST HIM I LO-

His thoughts shatter when something brushes his leg. He freezes, processing. It's Beauty. She's reaching out of her carrier. Just the tiny bit she can. Maybe her claw? She continues to touch. Furrow slowly reaches down, fingers brushing soft strands that quickly retract away. It was her antennae. Memories hit him. Warm memories. Ones of his fingers in Alethi hair just as soft. He keeps his hand there, not moving, and after a stretch of time is rewarded with the return of the strands.

In a hushed voice he greets her, "Hello, sweetie."

She is a scared pup. Cautious, but curious. Furrow has a feeling she is very friendly, but whatever her story is made her have to bury that part of herself. He has been working with her since the moment he got her. Softly humming to her, slow movements in her view, sharing rations which she seemed to like. Little things to show her she was safe. Safe with him.

Seems she was returning the gesture.

Furrow takes a deep breath. Then several more. Grounding himself slowly. Not perfectly, but he was present again.

When had he started crying?

He swipes at his cheeks. "Ok. Ok, get up. Get back up. We can do this. We can do this."

He stands. Gripping his spear, he taps the floor a couple times as he considers what he is about to do. He did not know how he was going to do this, but he could not remain here thinking on it. He had to leave. Slinging his pack onto his shoulders he notes the lightness now that he wears his chainmail again. It would not be coming off anytime soon. He gathers the rest of his gear onto his person and finally grabs Beauty in her carrier.

"It'll be OK," Furrow whispers. Both to Beauty and to himself. "It must be. I'll make it so."

The door was surprisingly quiet as he opened it and left.