Markus returned with tea.
The tray was heavy in his hands, the ceramic cups rattling against the wood, the steam rising in thick white clouds. He set it on the desk, the legs creaking under the weight. A cups, pot and a small plate of bread and honey, still warm from the kitchen, the honey dripping slowly over the edge of the bread.
He kept his eyes on the goat on the bed. Then at the pig on the pillow. Then at Kaelen, who was still in his sleep clothes, his hair uncombed.
Kaelen poured himself a cup of tea. The liquid was dark, almost black, with flecks of herbs floating on the surface. The steam rose hot and fragrant, carrying the scent of honey and mint and something sharper underneath, something that smelled like medicine. He took a long sip. The warmth spread through his chest, loosening something that had been tight since the nightmare woke him before dawn.
