She dragged him beneath the table and covered him with herself.
She tried to pray for safety, but no words would come.
The only name she could utter was Yeren's.
Why?
He had offered her help. She should have taken it. If she had, she would still be with her sister… and Arlan wouldn't be dying.
Then, the table cloth lifted and the old lady peered at them.
"They're gone now. You can come out."
The candles flickered, casting grim shadows over Arlan's features. His skin had a sickly pallor that made her heart ache.
He probably had less than an hour to live, if not minutes.
He suddenly started convulsing as she moved him.
"Get me a pail!" The woman instructed, her voice as coarse as sand as she struggled to hold him down.
Claire's gaze darted around the room in search of the required object.
Then, she spotted one with a splintered top.
She rushed for it and brought it to them.
The woman lifted him up, placing the pail beneath his face and patted his back.
Nothing came out.
