When she woke again she was in her own bedroll.
In the prince's tent.
She was still wet. She was still freezing. And she still felt weak.
And Donncahd wasn't in the bed.
It took her a moment for her eyes to adjust, and when she looked around, the tent was quiet and empty, save for her.
It felt...too large, to be empty like that. Even though Donncahd wasn't the type to spend his time inside of tents, it just felt...
Too empty without him.
She pushed herself to her feet and pulled her cloak around herself tighter.
The camp was mostly quiet.
The only noise that was really audible was that of the rain, and it was starting to lessen.
She didn't stop to ask any guards anything.
Nor to wonder who put her in her night shift. Instead, she marched back to the tent of the injured. There were more wounded now. More wounded guards, from the fight.
The Direwolf was dead.