Reginald's POV
"Come, let me help you wash your hair," I said to Fiona, guiding her toward the water.
We'd discovered a stream close to the small settlement.
Since both my face and Allen's were recognized by too many people, we couldn't venture into the village.
For any supplies we required, we dispatched someone else to fetch them from the settlement. So we had to make do with this stream.
"Watch your step," I warned, leading Fiona down to the water's edge and beginning to cleanse her. She remained silent.
Sometimes she'd gaze blankly into the distance, while other moments she'd be alert enough for conversation.
Yet Fiona frequently suffered mental collapses. She'd recall her brother and plead with me to return. She'd beg me to show her where I'd laid Draven to rest.
'We need to hold a proper funeral for him,' she'd insist.
