A few steps into the garden, Felicity let go of Damien's hand and sat under the pear tree. The grass was cool through her dress. She put her palm against a low branch to steady herself. The wet leaves tipped a handful of cold water into her face. She hadn't meant to do it, but after the dried blood and the smell of that school pillow, she was glad of a wash that didn't involve spitting on a handkerchief.
Damien sat where she could rest against him. His thumb came away from her cheek with a little red on it. "The nosebleed's stopped," she told him. "I got the holes in my neck closed, too. The rest of me feels like I pushed that bloody cart all the way here with my forehead."
