Cool light scattered across the sickbed like salt crystals crushed into fine grains.
Two wolves lay in their hospital beds, breathing steadily and strongly.
The leader of the Wolf Brothers felt agonizing pain throughout his body. Every strand of flesh, every tiny blood vessel felt as though needles were piercing it over and over.
"Heh... heh... Kuroser, got any booze...? Give me a couple of swigs." Every syllable Rogier forced from his throat sent terrible pain through his facial muscles and tongue.
It felt as though one Leman Russ Tank after another was slamming into him.
"I'm afraid not. You could ask Philos Keller. He just received a shipment of medical alcohol." The reply came from Rogier's left, in a somewhat familiar voice.
It wasn't Kuroser speaking, but Kazhaniv of the Luna Wolves.
"Hah... hah... brother, you're here. Where am I?" Hearing that familiar voice, the old wolf relaxed.
"The infirmary, of course, brother. Your wounds were horrific. I wasn't even sure you'd survive."
"Wounded... yes. The Allfather wouldn't take me. I... I dreamed of Russ, haha." Every sentence Rogier spoke came with heavy panting, but he insisted on finishing the story of his dream. "I dreamed... the wolf... the wolf was tearing open a traitor's chest. Hehe... he glanced at me and told me to find him some booze. Next time I see him, he wants to drink his fill."
Compared with Rogier's miserable condition, Kazhaniv was doing much better-and had been in far greater danger. After his Primaris Surgery, his crazed training had ruptured his muscle coils. The Apothecary had been forced to tear his body open all over again and implant new coils to support and nourish his powerful, resilient muscles.
"Ka... Brother Kazhaniv, I feel like something heavy's pressing down on my left eye. I can't