“I’ll j-just be going,” said the robed woman, and stepped away, back toward the sheets of rain that blanketed the night.
The tremor in her voice caught Will’s attention, though. He saw water dripping from the front of her hood in an almost steady stream. Her robe swung heavily. She was soaked to the bone.
“Wait,” he said. “You can’t go out.”
The others looked at him. Even Firkin, still pressed up against the wall.
“She’s soaked to the bone.” He pointed out to the room at large. “She’ll catch her death.”
“You be saying that a lot, I think,” Balur said. “Unhealthy obsession.”
Will stared around at the sixty-four goblin corpses. But, yes, of course, he was the one with an unhealthy obsession. Though, given the size difference between him and Balur, he decided to keep that opinion quiet.
Instead he just said, “It’s been that sort of night.”
Lette let out a small huff of laughter. She let Firkin go. The disheveled man collapsed away from her. “Come in then,” she said to the woman in the cave’s entrance. “Let’s get a fire going and try to salvage what’s left of this shit show of a day.”