Receiving Treatment

Yet that trace of warmth that had just risen was quickly doused by the cold reality.

She looked at the tattered yet still faintly recognizable scraps of military uniform on Webber, felt the solid strength of a warrior coming from his embrace, and then thought of her own lowly birth and unbearable past...

One was a capable soldier, someone who might well have boundless prospects in Carnford; while she was only a prostitute who had survived by sheer luck, with nothing to her name but this broken body and a heart full of wounds.

Clouds and mud, worlds apart.

Her gaze dimmed in an instant, and the faint blush that had just risen quickly faded as well, leaving only deep humility and bitterness.

That feeling that had just begun to sprout was forcibly pinched off by her and buried in the dust at the very bottom of her heart.

Being able to survive was already a great blessing. She should not harbor any improper thoughts.

She gently rested her head against Webber's solid shoulder, closed her eyes, and used the last of her lucid strength to say in a low voice, so soft it was almost drowned out by the sound of the waves:

"Thank you... Webber."

That thank-you contained far too much.

Thanks for saving her life, thanks for caring for her along the way, and thanks for the fleeting, illusory warmth and safety he gave her at this moment.

Webber seemed not to notice the complicated emotions flowing through the woman in his arms. He simply held her steadily, pushed through the oncoming crowd, and swept his sharp gaze across the chaotic beach, searching for the sign of a medical station or someone dressed as a physician.

To him, the most important thing right now was to find