Dawn Treader Valley sufrimiento

He drifted around the den in those days, as that was where they all seemed to gather. Euryalos brought food to Andromache, to the ghost haunting the sick den.

That was where he came this morning, tired eyes red rimmed from late nights. The cry ahead made him speed up, despite how it grated against his frayed nerves. And there was their ghost, sprawled against the ground. He dropped the rabbit he had been carrying, critical eyes sweeping the coat of the woman, before he grunted. Then, he stepped forward, offering a shoulder to lean against to regain her feet.

They couldn’t understand each other, but he could help silently.