Alex came back to the tent soaking wet and trembling, her face reflecting only exhaustion. She flopped at the door, under the rainfly, her back to Tom. He was lying back on his sleeping bag as if he'd never moved.
"Last Sunday I killed two ertes here in town," she said with a dull, tired voice as she took off her boots. "But I don't know if it's got anything to do with your garthling?"
"Ertes?" Tom repeated.
"Sort of ghouls." Alex took off her wet flannel, hung it from one of the poles and got into the tent, zipping it up.
"Ghouls..."
She reached her backpack and rummaged around it. "Ghouls are... sort of scavenging goblins. Shit. No dry clothes left."
She was too drained to even feel annoyed, so she just crawled on her hands and knees to her sleeping bag. She saw Tom unbutton his flannel. "What're you doing?"
"You're gonna catch a cold if you keep those wet clothes on."
He was about to take it off when Alex noticed he'd removed the dressing from his side. Before she could think about it, she was kneeling by him, a hand flat on his chest.
To Tom's utter surprise, she pushed him back. He got to rest on his elbows, frowning as Alex leaned over his belly, clearly not believing her eyes.
Only the day before, the flesh was ripped open and bleeding. She herself had seen it, and stitched it! But there was nothing but a scar now, the stitches about to fall off. She moved her lips without a sound, sliding her fingertips along the scar.
A soft cough startled her. She looked up to meet Tom's stare, half annoyed, half curious, one eyebrow raised. She stumbled backwards to land on her butt and moved as far from him as she could in such a reduced space.
"So-sorry," she mumbled. "I didn't meant to..."
Tom was polite enough not to comment. He sat up, finished taking his flannel off and handed it over to her.
"Told you I heal fast," was all he said. "It's the garthling blood."
He turned his back on her to retrieve his T-shirt from the rainfly pole. He wore it in no hurry. When he turned to go back into the tent, Alex was already wearing his flannel, and she'd even changed her wet, muddy hiking pants for black leggings. Tom handed her a beer and went back to his sleeping bag. A gust of wind swirled around the tent and drops sounded louder on the fly for a moment. Tom opened his beer.
"Wanna tell me about Sunday?"