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Athwen approached Osmod slowly from behind. He sat beside his rolled bedding, bending over the neatly bandaged hand. She felt sorry for him, but at the same time, couldn’t help feeling some impulse to laugh. How on earth had he managed to do it?
‘How does it feel?’ she asked in an undertone. He looked up quickly and moved a little bit to face her. She stepped back so that he didn’t have to crane his neck up so far to talk.
‘Fine. Just a bit hot. Why don’t you sit down?’ He motioned with his unburnt hand, but she shook her head.
‘I won’t sit. Thanks, though.’ She paused a moment. ‘I don’t quite believe you on that fine part. Leod’s sent you to bed, hasn’t he?’ There was a short pause, then Osmod nodded slowly. ‘I was thinking. . .actually, could I take first watch?’ The young man looked hesitant. ‘Please?’ Athwen pressed eagerly. ‘I’ve not done anything to help in ages, really. No, cooking dinner hardly counts. Let me stay up and watch. It’s a fine night and everyone else is tired. You’ve just burned your hand and gotten explicit orders to go to bed. I’ll be sure to wake you or Dorran or Fion if anything happens. Please let me stay up.’
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