Vaelith had the room ready.
Warm. Not the clean warmth of essence-light formations or the sterile efficiency of a healer's ward — the warmth of a home. Firelight from a stone hearth, the flames catching on rough-hewn walls and painting them gold. A brazier at the room's center, coals banked low, radiating a steady heat that sank into skin and bone. Soft bedding on a low platform. A basin of heated water. Clean cloths folded with the particular neatness of someone whose hands needed occupation while they waited.
