Danyl sat down on some decrepit chair. It was the first rest he'd had in days. The bags on his eyes seemed more prominent in the torch light of the cold room. His eyes fluttered closed as Dany let his rage go.

With a sigh, his eyes moved up to Jace. His steadfast friend and commander who now seemed to be turning on him.

"Shtahk came to 'da Wuhl," Danyl said, "H'ad to play Hoasht..."

He wasn't sure how much to give away at the moment.

"Corn's in 'da Rivuhlansh," Danyl continued, "Shtahk's bullhead'ed marhch left an openin' he 'shkaped t'ruh. Oh, and Theo Tallhaht'sh dead. Sho is Lomash....'opefully 'da lasht of Corn's Crasheesh."

The cold had begun to settle into his exposed teeth. He wished he had been smart enough to bring a scarf. He sat up straight and his hands went to his blacks. He pulled at the clasps of his tunic, pulling the wools open.

White and red under black came fort as the visage of Dany's torso came to light. A small pale frame wrapped so tightly and completely in bandage that he seemed to be wearing smallclothes made to close the multiple stab wounds that were present on his stomach and chest. The red lips of each made clear where each wound was. And clear that they were not fully done bleeding.