Larksong Grotto death blossom

She sure did talk a lot. As much to stop the running of her voice as to placate her, “Okay,” he said meekly, trying to keep up. He had been running a fever, but being overdosed on sedation and being left to recover in the snow had made him a little hypothermic. He hadn’t picked up on the patronizing note in her voice, but he sensed her question had been rhetorical — and anyway, everything was moving way too quickly for comfort. “Course you can have it,” he told her, feeling suddenly very fond of her. “Was I asleep?” He already didn’t remember that she’d walked in upon him having what she thought was intimate congress with a man named Douglas Fir.