Recovering from head injuries wasn't anything like Nathaniel had seen on the television. It was supposed to be a bandage wrapped around his head ans he laid in bed, with a pretty nurse person kissing his cheek and calling him 'dear' and bringing him cool sips of water. He wasn't supposed to be bumping along in a cart getting tossed around, dirty and exhausted and unable to get any rest. He couldn't heal, couldn't charge up his magic, without sleeping very well. He thought that maybe once they got where they were going he could finally sleep, but no. As soon as they'd gotten there the men from the cart were tossed into a large living area and trained to fight in the arena. It had been sort of fun learning how to use a sword, but not fun enough. And Nathaniel was still completely drained.
But he would be strong, because Remington was counting on him to get home. And because, despite what he promised his best friend, Nathaniel wouldn't go home without Remy. He couldn't. Candi's heart would break and she would cry, and it would be all Nathaniel's fault.
"Okay," he said softly, wiping sweat and dirt from his face. Practice was done, and now they could sit in their dank area and get barely enough rest to fight later that day for the matches. Unless some noblewoman (or sometimes man) came down to pluck some fighters for whatever purpose. Nathaniel had been luckily overlooked so far for all that. "Remy," he mumbled, stifling a yawn, "do you think I would come back if I died? Like a cat, and nine lives and stuff?"