Through the twelve-inch opening of the wooden air-flow lattice between the work shed and the garden sick room, the amber glow of Mina’s lantern fell across Joren’s face. The favored senior student of Ash Reed Sect was braced on one trembling forearm against the cedar doorstep, his upper robe hanging open around his waist. Across his chest bone and both collarbones, the fresh healing wrap of third-terrace reed ash and cool river clay that Mina had applied two hours earlier gleamed dark and wet over skin mottled with red spirit vein burns.
Elder Hesh spun around at the sound of the scraping lattice, his hand flying to the wooden frame as if his first instinct was still to slide the shutter closed and keep his prized student hidden from view. “Joren,” Hesh breathed, stepping to the partition. “You shouldn’t be standing. Your around the heart return is still raw from the afternoon venting. Lie back down on the mat and I’ll bring warm barley water.”
Joren didn’t take his arm off the doorstep, nor did he allow Hesh to push the lattice shut. His fingers—once smooth and ring-adorned. Just then, he stood on the winter check platform receiving the patrons’ applause. Were crusted with dried herb paste and hooked tightly over the cedar slat. He looked past Hesh into the shed where Seyun stood on one sound boot and one braced heel beside Mina.
