Caleb chewed the inside of his cheek as Essek wound the bandage, wrapping him gently, attending to the worst of the marks. Essek's hands were still soft and delicate, even in their gentle authority. And he spoke of this interesting fellow he'd met, that he'd waited to mention.

There was no sense in lingering on that, was there? There had been no good time before now, of course. That was all. No good time.

This wasn't a good time either, probably. Essek wasn't looking at him--rather, he was looking at him, but never at him, just at the damage, the gruesome reminders of his sins and fragility. Caleb had no reason to stew in something like jealousy because Essek had spoken to a man, in the midst of fear and terror and anguish, about fascinating magical premises. That was foolish.

He lifted a hand and brushed his fingers against Essek's elbow, making an interested noise.