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The Lamb holds their bell tight to their chest as they pass through the summoning circle. Their cult is silent—nothing to be heard but the falling snow. All they can hear is their own soft breathing, and the click of their hooves against the ground.
“Lamb?” Oh. And Narinder. He’s leaning against the side of their temple, his hood pulled low over his face.
“Are you mad at me?” They let go of their bell for less than a heartbeat—their shivering makes it ring out. “Shit! Ignore that.”
His ears pull back and flatten. “Where have you been?”
“I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about the Rot, and…” They trail off with a sigh. “Sorry. I’m tired. Please don’t be upset.”
He takes their hand as they get closer and pulls them to his chest. They relax, one hand trapped between their bodies to still their bell and the other around his neck. Their crown slinks down their horn; Narinder presses his face into their wool and breathes deeply.
His warmth seems to heal the pain they’ve been feeling—the searing ache in their core turns off like a snuffed candle.
“I’m not upset.” He murmurs into their ear. “I am concerned, though.”
The Lamb bleats curiously.
“You’re trembling.”
“It’s…Woolhaven.” Their mind feels like it’s stuffed with cotton wool. “In winter. M’ just cold.”
Narinder hisses at them.
“And tired. What?”
“You’re not making any sense, either.”
They bleat indignantly. “I’m fine!”
“Lamb. Are you drunk?”
“Wha—huh?” They lean their head back to look at him. “Do I sound weird?”
“Yes.” He presses his hand to their cheek and suddenly pushes them away.
“Nari?” They watch, dumbfounded, as he pulls his cloak off. “No, don’t.” They pinch the bridge of their nose. You’re gonna freeze!”
“You feel like a corpse.” He throws his cloak at them—they bleat in surprise and stumble. Narinder has to grab them by their collar to keep them upright.
He’s not thinking straight. Clearly. They’re fine!
“Narinder. I’m a god of death,” they explain calmly. It’s a little like talking to a child. “I’m going to be cold.” He stares at them blankly. He must be so cold.
“Here—fuck.” Their hands aren’t cooperating. All the more reason to get him inside, before it starts affecting him too.
He growls—Narinder is really starting to piss them off, now—and grabs his cloak from the floor. He throws it over their shoulders and pulls the hood down.
“Narinder, do not—”
“Keep this on. Are you insane?”
“Are you?!” The Lamb walks back and throws their arms out in a wide arc, whisper-yelling at him. He’s about to wake up half their cult and he doesn’t even care. They aren’t even shivering anymore! They’re fine.
The Red Crown loops around their shoulder, staring at its former god. He stares back. They sigh.
“I don’t want you to get sick, Nari.” Maybe he’s hypothermic—how long was he waiting?—and that’s why he’s not listening to them.
He shakes his head and walks back over. Maybe he’s decided to finally be reasonable. To go back inside before he makes himself ill—
Narinder sweeps his hands under their chin and kisses them, gentle and sweet.
“Oh.” They whisper. He’s purring. “Hi.”
“Hello.” He’s quieter now. They win. And, finally, work their arms into the sleeves of his cloak. They’re too tired to fight him.
“You’re purring. Why do you sound upset?” They sway slightly where they stand. They can feel his cloak ride up, right over the spot their wagging tail pokes out of their fleece.
“Let’s see. You’re slurring your words. You left for a crusade in the dead of night, in the middle of winter, and you come back freezing. You’re going to make yourself ill.” Narinder checks each point off on his fingers.
“I sound fine? W’dyou mean?” They’re just tired. Which is perfectly normal after a crusade.
Narinder purrs louder. They feel a little dizzy.
“I sound fine.”
He stares at them blankly. “I don’t know if you realise how bad this is.”
They stomp their hoof. “I’m fine. You,” they poke him in the chest. “are going to make yourself catastrophically ill. You’re immortal, sure, but last I checked you aren’t invulnerable.”
“I’ll make myself ill if you keep fighting me.” He growls. His tail lashes behind him. “You need to get inside.”
“I’m not fighting you!”
“Lamb.”
They bleat indignantly. “What did I do? Is this because I left? I’m sorry, but you don’t own me. I can go where I like.”
“You don’t know what’s happening.” He whispers to himself. His ears press flat against his skull.
“If you would just tell me what’s going on—”
“You don’t know what’s happening to you.” Narinder buries his face in his hands.
“What?”
“Read my mind.” He uncovers his face and stares them down.
The snow is steadily getting worse, like the weather itself is trying to stop their argument. If Ygnya wasn’t currently sleeping in their cult, they’d think she’s siding with them.
“No. Just—talk to me!”
“Read my mind. Because you can’t see how bad this is.” He slides a hand under their jaw and forces their gaze up.
“Fine. Sorry.” They whisper. This always feels so invasive, no matter who. Narinder asked, though.
They blink a handful of times. Adjusting to somebody else’s vision—superimposed over theirs—is always difficult.
They look awful. Half of his cloak is over their face but they make no move to lift it. Their lips are purple, their face flushed.
“Holy shit.” They can only understand themselves through their own mind—to Narinder, their whisper sounds unintelligible.
He presses his thumb into their mouth and pulls their lip down. Their gums are almost completely white. They watch, dumbfounded, as they reach up and pull his hand away; they attempt to lace their fingers through his, but they’re too cold to do anything.
“I told you,” he whispers. “that I was worried. Like you said, I am not invulnerable. But neither are you.” He tucks their hand back into their sleeve, and then pulls both of their hands to his chest.
They bleat.
“You won’t die of this, but you will be in pain. I can’t allow that.” His eyes are welling with tears.
He’s so stressed. They try their best, through his mind, to impart an apology before they withdraw.
“Come on. Get inside.”
Their mind swirls in that odd space, between his mind and theirs. Slowly, they feel control return over their numb limbs. Narinder mews anxiously when they don’t immediately respond.
The Lamb lays their forehead over their hands.
“Lamb.” He drops their hands and pulls them back by the shoulders. “Look at me.”
“M’ so sorry Nari.” They know he can’t understand them, but they don’t care. They have to say it.
“Come on,” he says softly. They stumble forwards, both hands clutching his collar. He gently ushers them forward, one hand on the small of their back. “you’ll be alright. I promise.”
They bleat curiously—he sounds like he has experience with this. The thought makes them sick. They can’t imagine him going through this; Narinder, of all people, freezing half to death. His ears flattened to his head, his limbs trembling. Did it happen when he was younger? All they can think about is a scared little kitten, knee-deep in snow—
“Hey, hey. Don’t cry. It’s alright.” He brushes their tears with his free hand. “I’ve got you.” They nod pathetically. Their legs aren’t functioning; if they collapse now they don’t think he could carry them.
He’s still purring. His shoulders are shaking but he’s purring. They’ve bleated more tonight than ever in their life—they do it again, high pitched and miserable.
“We’re almost home. Calm down.” The Lamb closes their eyes and focuses on moving forward.
Narinder rattles their doorknob. “Give me your keys.” He’s shivering.
“Lamb?” They pull his hand closer—they don’t have the dexterity to do this themself anymore. He runs his hand along their waist until he feels the pocket concealed in their fleece. “Okay then. Here?” They nod.
“Don’t trip.” He pulls their hands away from his collar and guides them inside. They open their eyes and watch him re-lock the door.
“Th’k you.” They whisper and swing their arms around his neck.
“What are you—”
They kiss him. Narinder smiles into the kiss.
“Oh. Okay then.” His ears perk up when they pull away. “I don’t think that’ll help warm you up.”
“R’you a d’ctor?”
“Hmm? No. My brother was quite well versed in medicine, though. Somehow, I don’t think he would recommend this.”
They pout. “Th’n he sucks. Tell h’m he’s borin’.”
Narinder laughs and kisses them again. “I’ll let him know.”
“Yay.” They bend their head and press their forehead to his chest.
“Hey. Come to bed. I’ll get you warmed up.”
“Oh.” They blink at him. “W’tr your in—intendtions with me?”
“Entirely appropriate, I promise.”
The Lamb pouts. “Really? I wanted y’to get me warmed up.” They waggle their eyebrows.
Narinder keeps laughing at them. Rude.
“Let’s save that for when you’re feeling better.” He pushes them toward their bed.
“Pr’mise?”
“I promise.” He kisses them on the forehead. “Do you have any blankets?”
“Whut.” They stick their tongue out as they think.
He shakes his head and opens the curtains dividing their bedroom. They bound over happily—their hooves thunk against the floor with every step.
They still feel incredibly weak—but he’s making them feel so much better just by being around. He must have retained some kind of powers from the crown.
Narinder ushers them onto their bed and opens the drawers beneath it.
“W’dya need?” They burrow under their covers and look at him. Their crown settles down on their bedside table and promptly falls asleep.
“Blankets. I told you that.”
“Whoa. Uh.”
He pulls a thick quilt out and drops it against their bed. It makes a heavy whump noise when it hits their knee.
“Y’found it!”
“I did.” He kicks the drawer closed and pulls their covers off. “You weren’t much help,” he continues.
“Hey!”
Narinder pulls his cloak off their shoulders and gets started removing their fleece.
“Oh. D’jou want your cloak back?”
“I want this fleece off you.”
“Oh my goodness. Nari!”
He laughs again.
“Y’jus said to save that f’r when I’m better!” They think they’re slurring less now. They probably aren’t, though.
“I didn’t mean it like that. I need this off you because it’s keeping you cold.” He sits back and lets them handle it. They reach under their collar and undo the ties keeping their fleece in place. It’s damp from the snowfall—he folds their fleece and places it near the end of their bed.
“Ah.” They weakly tug the quilt around their shoulders—he leans in to help. “I th’ght you were bein’ a pervert.”
He bursts out laughing. They hit him on the arm.
“Stop. S’not funny.”
“It is, I’m afraid.”
“No it isn’t.” They poke their tongue out.
“Why are you so…interested in me, anyway? I thought you’d be too tired for this.”
“Y’r hot.”
“Right. That makes complete sense. I’m going to go get the fire started.”
“Okay!”
Narinder pulls his cloak back on and walks away.
“Wh’re you going?” They tug their shorts off beneath the blankets and toss them at the end of the bed.
He stares at them, bewildered.
“M’ fuckin’ with you. Don’t worry.”
“Do not do that.”
They stick their tongue out at him.
Narinder is quiet as he walks over. With him gone, they suddenly feel so much worse. They lie down on their stomach to watch him.
He removes the candles from the top of the furnace—they bleat at him.
“What?” He walks over to their desk and places the candles down.
“Y’re moving my stuff.”
“I have to. Do you want them to melt?”
“…no.”
“Okay. Do you have any towels?”
The pain they felt comes back with a vengeance. So does the shivering. They let their head drop into their mattress.
“I’m die. Thank y’forever.”
“What do you mean?” He sounds worried, again.
“Hurts.”
“Oh,” he says softly. “okay. Bear with me, Lamb.”
They listen as he walks over to their attached bathroom. There’s a soft rustling as he grabs a few towels from the counter and a click! as he closes the door. He walks away—toward the fire—and they bleat. He doesn’t come back, so they bleat louder. And louder. And—
“Lamb.” Narinder says gently. “I know it hurts. Please, shut up.”
They bleat once more. His steps are surprisingly quiet; they don’t notice he’s gotten closer until he sits down on the edge of the bed.
“The towels are heating up. I can’t do much more than that.”
They pull themselves up on their elbows and paw at their collar. Narinder reaches over and unclasps it for them. They bleat gratefully.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been baa-ed at this much in my life.” He drops their bell in his lap.
The Lamb giggles.
“Is there a difference between the noises?”
They flop onto their side.
“Yeah? There’s a clear difference between baa and maa.”
“I’m afraid I don’t hear it. Although,” he starts to pet their wool. “earlier. You bleated just before you started crying. It sounded almost inquisitive.”
“Mmmmhm.” They’re getting tired.
“You did it again after. Maybe it’s because you were crying, but it sounded distressed. That’s all I noticed.” Narinder brushes his thumb over their closed eye. “Are you falling asleep?”
“Yeah.”
“Please don’t.”
“W’not?”
“Oh. Never mind.” He moves his hand back to their wool. “You can’t die, can you?”
“N’fr’r.”
“What?…I’m going to get those towels before they get too hot.” He walks away.
They lift their head. “Not f’rever.”
“Well, yes. Obviously.”
“It hurts though. Y’r whooole body,” they roll onto their back and stretch out their arms. “melts. And then it has to rebuild itself. It sucks.”
There’s a gentle thud as he places down the towels. “I forgot about that. I’m sorry.”
It’s okay.”
“You’ve stopped slurring…as much.” He brushes his hand over their forehead. “Are you comfortable here?”
“No. I don’t wanna get up, but—” They pull themselves onto their elbows and dramatically fall back.
“I want my pillows.” They finish
Narinder pulls the covers up over their chest as he sits down. “Okay. I’m going to lay these over you. I don’t think we’ll need more than this.” His hands are shaking.
“Narinder. Come lie down.” They shift onto their side and pull the towel over their back. Truth be told, they don’t feel well. Their crown is fast asleep. If they die now—if he doesn’t notice—it might not be able to resurrect them in time.
He lies the second towel over their waist and flops down.
“Thank you.” They kiss him, one hand on the side of his face. He pulls his cloak down over his ears. “Are you okay?”
“Fine, Lamb.” His tail is lashing, his ears are flat. He’s clearly stressed.
“Why are you purring?” He’s just started again.
“It’s nothing.”
“You were purring earlier, too. Outside.” They didn’t notice when he stopped.
He sighs. “Stress. I’m sorry.”
“So am I, Nari. I didn’t know.”
“It’s okay.” He lays his hand over their waist.
There’s a peaceful silence. The wind starts to howl, because the wind hates them personally.
“…has this ever happened to you?”
“You were more entertaining when you were delirious. Yes. When I was a kitten.”
“Oh. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine.” He hooks a finger into their mouth. They bleat in shock. “You’re okay. Your gums are pink again.”
“Hey! Would you look at that. You’re a life saver, Nari.”
He still seems upset, though.
“How are you feeling?”
“Hmm? A little tired, but I feel fine.” They squint.
He breathes out shakily. “Okay.”
“Narinder.” They kiss the space between his eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay? I’m not going back out there—I mean, obviously—but if you want to get Kallamar or something—”
“No. Absolutely not. Of all the bishops, you pick Kallamar?”
They burst out laughing. “He’s the medical one! He probably knows what he’s doing. Shamura, then.”
“I don’t even want to think about what they’re doing to the Goat at the moment.”
They laugh so hard their stomach hurts. Narinder turns away when he starts struggling to breathe.
“Okay.” They suck in a deep breath. “No bishops, then.”
He lies on his back and looks at the ceiling.
“I can handle this.”
The Lamb takes his hand. “Sure.”
“Are you sure you feel alright?”
“Yes! I—should I not?” They’re still shivering, after all.
“You’re fine. Everything…stops, out in the cold. You stop feeling the pain for a while. But,” he breathes in deep. His voice trembles when he starts talking again. “it..it comes back. When you warm up. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
“Okay. Nari?” He looks over. “Can I have a kiss?”
“The things I do for you.” He grumbles, rolling over to kiss them. They smile.
“Thank you. I promise I’m okay.” Narinder interlaces their fingers and closes his eyes. “I know this is hard for you. You’re making me feel a lot better, though.”
“Right.”
They kiss between his eyes again.
“Could you—” his voice fractures.
“The Crown?”
Narinder pulls away. “Yes.”
They roll over and poke the Red Crown. It cracks it’s eye open halfway, then drops onto their bed and slithers up their horn. They flip over again and snuggle into their covers.
“It’s back.” He lies back down—under the covers, almost chest to chest with them—and kisses them between the horns.
“Go to sleep.” Narinder whispers.
“Only if you do.”
They know he won’t. Neither will they. They’ll both just lie here in silence until they can think of something to say.
“Of course I will,” he lies. “Goodnight.”
“Night, Nari.”