His skin burned, when she dropped the canteen to catch his shoulder. The sheathed sword and her battered vest cut into her ribs as his weight pinned her arm against her chest. He was breathing like a runner after the race, harsh and heavy; when she braced her shoulder against his and fumbled for his wrist, she found his pulse pounding hot.

"You're delirious," she whispered. "Gods, I'm sorry. I should have known. I should have--"

Should-haves would get them nowhere. She strangled fear and regret together and shoved them back down into her nightmares. Focus on what you can do now. Deal with everything else later.

They had precious few options. Stopping here was out of the question; if the wound-fever didn't kill Asuma, the cold would. The last time she'd asked, he'd said the monastery should be within ten miles, running due south-east. He was still on his feet; maybe he could make it.

Her lips thinned. He'd have to make it. After all they'd come through, nothing else was acceptable.

"All right," she said, steadying him carefully as she pulled away. He swayed on his feet, but didn't fall as she stooped to recover her canteen and then the messy bundle of tee-shirt and head. It was sticky with blood; a few matted locks of filthy red hair trailed free, brushing over Natsumi's fingers. She shivered, and knotted the terrible thing one-handed at her belt. "If she haunts me now, it's all your fault. Can you walk, if you lean on me?"