He had promised to protect her. He had even promised her she would never suffer again.
Yet she had been beaten, chained, and left to die while he was away.
Guilt crashed over him.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking.
He gently took her hand in his.
It was cold. Too cold.
"Why are her hands so cold?" he asked, looking up at Vane.
The healer let out a quiet sigh.
"She lost a great deal of blood," he said softly. "And her body is still very weak."
Thornak lowered his head.
He tightened his grip on Lara's hand, careful not to hurt her.
"Will she live?" he asked quietly.
"Yes she will," he replied. "Her recovery has been nothing short of remarkable. She is only sleeping now because of the herbs I gave her."
Throughout the night, he never left her side. While the rest of the village slept, he kept vigil beside her bed, watching the shallow rise and fall of her chest, wiping the feverish sweat from her brow, and keeping her cold hands wrapped in his own warmth.
