“At least it’s not your own,” Vlora said, choking back a sudden, unbidden sob. She wasn’t sure where it came from – fear of seeing him like this, or joy that he seemed to be in better shape than he looked. “No,” Olem replied, “my blood ruined my rolling papers.” He took his arms off the privates and waved them away, testing one foot tentatively before limping over to a bench along the inner wall and sagging into it. Vlora sat down beside him, allowing herself a moment’s rest.
