He fell.
Alethea squinted at the boy, trying to discern the bigger picture surrounding this vague explanation, but found herself quite unable to glean anything from his expression.
She smiled at Thoth and mouthed the word “thank you,” as the group began to move through the courtyard and into the castle. Inside, the air was much cooler, chilled by the thick stone walls and the waft of subterranean air from the cellars. Her eyes were blind in the comparative darkness; she almost reached out for the younger boy, but thought better of it at the last moment, and trailed her fingers over the wall beside her instead. They were nearly at the end of the first hall before her vision adjusted, and she was able to trust her feet.
“Menekhtites. You haven’t heard of them?” Her look was appraising, as if she was really seeing Alistair for the first time. “They’re a religious faction. Crazy, and violent. A group of them managed to find their way into Shaman a little while ago...” she trailed off, biting her lip. That was as much of a description as she could muster, right now. At least his confusion had seemed genuine; it was unlikely that he was a maniac terrorist if he hadn’t even heard the name, before. Or else he was an exceptional liar.
Alethea had no talent for catching lies.
“Anyway. You’re lucky. Shaman can be a dangerous place for travelers. But the King is kind, and the castle is safe for those who mean no harm.” Her voice had turned gentle, compassion winning out over suspicion. It would be unfair, really, to presume he was dangerous when he was likely just in trouble. For all his attitude, he was injured and alone, and Alethea knew that in his place, she would be afraid. They reached the infirmary, then, and she was about to walk the boy to his cot, but the healer stopped her with a raised hand. She gave Alistair an apologetic look, took a few steps backward and stood beside Thoth in the doorway, instead.
“I don’t like him...”
“Already?” She asked, curious. A small smile played over her lips, despite herself. “But you’ve only just met him.” Her voice lowered to a whisper that might have been conspiratorial, if it were not tinged with the sadness that clung to her like a sickness. “He is a bit coarse, but wouldn’t you be, if you were hurt?” Alethea thought about this question, herself. If she were honest, she had to admit that she didn’t tend to be ill-mannered when she was hurt, but perhaps this was because she was a girl. The revelation startled her. Was it possible that boys and girls were so different?
She’d assumed their differences were merely anatomical.
She frowned, shook her head. Now was not the time to analyze the differences between males and females. It was a time to be helpful, and supportive, and do what she could to atone for her sins.
“Thoth, who were you burying, earlier? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have been spying, but the garden is right under my window. I came down to ask if you were alright. Are you?”
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