[Despite their situation, he feels almost delirious with happiness at the ease with which Laurent touches him, deftly unpins his chiton to bare his chest. New, casually expressed love. This will never grow old. He acquiesces to the attention; he had pulled at the injury with his movements, and the wound is red and irritated, but the fresh blood is only a trickle. The seawater was probably worse for it. Paschal might warn of infection.] How is that possible? The last I recall... the slave baths. You held my hand, and the bells rang outside.

Yet I woke on the beach here, with scratches and bruising I don't remember getting.