So much had been happening, lately. He had become used to being constantly on the verge of death – so now his people are on the verge of death, too. His companions had proved predictably uninterested in that problem.
Would they part ways after the swamp? He couldn’t remember the number of times they had saved his life, and he theirs. Still, he wouldn’t miss them. What did that say about them? What did that say about him? Oh well.
Petros walks into Myra’s wagon and sees another wonder. It doesn’t faze him. He looks at Reyland, sees the other man meet his gaze, and they wander off together. For a night, none of that matters.
He knows where the wagon is headed. They are headed straight into the enemy’s home. He doesn’t know if he’ll be alive this time next week. He could be much worse than dead. For another day, though, he could forget all that. He was with somebody he cared about.
He thinks, briefly, of his partner back home. He had never cared about him. He could scarcely remember his name. His mother thought that they were marriage material. Was there anything his mother was right about? Well – he was chosen by Dolora. She was right about that. One way or the other, her life of luxury would end.
Petros looks at Reyland’s gentle face. They begin to talk. Soon, his mother is forgotten.