"No," he answers quietly, his voice still heavy with sleep. "Not a dream or vision."

He hates to kill that hope so quickly, but they are better for it. There is no solution to their problem down that road. Bull's arm squeezes gently around Dorian's shoulders. Laying on his back reminds him of the faint, lingering ache in his torso. Saarebas are imperfect practitioners, discouraged from certain kinds of mastery.

Bull knows Dorian bears injuries now, too. He wishes he could take them from him, carry them for him.

"Someone brought a more substantial meal, if you're hungry."