When the harrowed husks drag themselves back to the monastery, Sothe does not return to his room.
He seeks out Micaiah, instead - where else could he go? He is in her room before he has bandaged his wounds, every inhale still a stabbing pain. Dying is a memory in his blood, the burning pain of venom, and he selfishly does not want to be alone. He is sure Micaiah suffered, too. But he cannot bear it.
He sits on her floor, legs folded beneath him, whittling at a block of wood. The noise of breaking wood fills his ears - he carves too heavily, though. Large chips fall to the floor. Harsher, harsher. Distress rolls of him in waves, a palpable thing. He cannot breathe.
He doesn't dare to speak to Micaiah, either.
No more secrets.
But if he doesn't speak, he can't lie - and he can't bear to tell her that he died, that it felt so real, that he wasn't strong enough.
She wants to find them all, as she always does, after it happens. Why, why do the missions keep happening? She realizes now, after seeing Pasithee in tow behind them that she may never know, and she no longer wants to; not if such horrors were the cost.
Most of all, she wants to go home with all of them; but home comes in many forms and while she cannot return to Daein right away she finds Sothe waiting for her. She manages not to cry, just pulls the quilt off of her bed and places it around the both of them as she takes her place beside him.
Her notes are beside her but this time, she is unsure if writing will truly help; and she wonders if she starts if her scrawl might take the form of names of family not her own (not ever), so she focuses instead on the sound of Sothe's carving. Eventually she pushes her own papers away and wraps the quilt more tightly around them, putting one hand around Sothe's far shoulder (so large now, but he lets her do this and so she can), leaning her head against the closer one.
