Sonder moved quietly; her footsteps were soft but without the elegance of the high society and elven grace that she had seen so much of the past few weeks.
She hadn't spoken to Vell since the attack at the queen's funeral.
It had only been an hour or two, but it felt like an eternity.
Vell had been busy, surrounded by the elves and other rescued guests, discussing things of great importance that she didn't understand fully.
She watched him from a distance and saw the way they looked at him. There was awe in their eyes, and fear too. But above all, there was gratitude and anxiety for the future.
She had considered searching for Hiraeth, but the library was so great that after only a few minutes, she gave up.
Instead, she let herself be guided through the halls of Vell's home, moving as if she already knew the way.
Eventually, she came to a corridor that ended in a plain door. It looked unremarkable, not like the entrance to any place important.
She knocked. No answer came, but the door opened on its own.
Inside was a small, bare room. The walls and floor were made of dull gray stone. In one corner stood a narrow bed, and beside it, a small cupboard.
A tall mirror leaned against the far wall, slightly tilted, as though no one had cared to straighten it.
Vell sat on the edge of the bed, shirtless. He was cleaning a burn along his ribs with a damp cloth, his arm limp at his side.
Sonder paused at the threshold, then stepped in and closed the door behind her.
"You shouldn't be here," Vell said with the strictness of a father.
She hesitated, unsure what to say. Then finally, "I can help."
He looked over at her. His face was streaked with ash and soot, the red in his eyes dimmer than usual.
Without a word, he handed her the cloth.
"Don't drag," he said. "Press and lift. Don't smear."
She knelt beside him and began tending the wound.
Up close, it looked worse, raw, open, and blistered, but already she could see the skin beginning to knit at the edges.
He healed quickly, though he didn't seem as immortal and unharmable as the Kalandir were.
Vell reached into the cupboard and pulled out a roll of linen.
Sonder said nothing, only worked carefully, wrapping the cloth around his side and tying a neat knot under his ribs.
After a moment, she asked, "Why haven't you ever shown me this place before?"
"Because I don't like it," he said eventually. "The library's different, but the rest…"
"But isn't it your home?"
"It is," he said. "That doesn't mean I want to live in it. I prefer the world outside. This place is safe, sure. But it reminds me too much of a coffin."
Sonder looked around. The room was quiet, cold, and colorless. It did feel like a tomb.
"Hiraeth doesn't mind it," she said, though it was a kind of question.
"No," Vell agreed. "I don't understand it myself."
He gave her a faint smile.
"I like the sights and sounds of the world, Sonder. The ache in your legs after walking too far. Wind that makes your eyes water. The sound of gravel under my boots."
Sonder nodded. That, she understood.