The Sanctum's infirmary smelled of herbs and antiseptic, a sharp contrast to the den rot of the Shadowfen Marshes.
Kelvin lay on a narrow cot with his left arm raped up in bandages that itched against his skin. A slight ache came from beneath the wrappings. He shifted, and let his gaze drift to his companions.
Lyra occupied the cot to his right, her posture was rigid despite the sling cradling her right arm. The healers had mended the matter left by a zombie's dark energy-infused strike, but her usually vibrant green eyes were dim, shadowed by frustration.
She met Kelvin's stare and offered a faint smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "How are you holding up?" he asked, his voice was a coarse from hours of disuse.
"Like I tangled with a stampeding wyrm and got lost," she replied. "I will be fine. Just need a day or two."
