Whether he spent the night sleeping or merely passed out, Ber wasn’t sure, but whatever it was, it sure wasn’t restful. When he awoke the next morning - probably morning; he didn’t know and didn’t care to ask - he still hurt. Though his arm was immobilized by the sling that the healer had put on it the night before, his shoulder throbbed angrily. Light spilling in from the windows and the noise of those in the infirmary going about their work as they checked on other patients exacerbated the pain in his head. Breathing too deeply still caused an ache in his sides, and all in all, he felt like he’d been trampled by a herd of horses and then run over by a cart.

If what Zevran had told him the night before, about being attacked by a werewolf, was true, then that probably wasn’t far off from reality.

He hoped Zev and Rune could come back, or maybe Temperance would be able to stop by, but his visitor this morning was one of the last people he expected or wanted to see. As the nurse spoke to him, Ber cracked an eyelid open to look at her from where he was doing his best to lay still and cease existing before squinting up at Abbott. The officer’s voice was usually a precursor to pain and exhaustion, but this time it was the volume that had the soldier wincing slightly as he tried to use his good arm to push himself up into more of a sitting position. It did not feel good, but the thought of laying down while talking to the drill instructor appealed even less than the effort such movement requires. When Abbott’s words registered, after a noticeable delay, he said, “‘m okay, sir.” There was another pause as he tried to get the fog in his head to fade long enough to find whatever tired, scattered thoughts existed. “Heard there was a werewolf.”

Between one blink and the next, Abbott had moved from standing over him to sitting beside him in a chair, and Ber rubbed his face with his hand and pushed himself to sit up a little straighter. It seemed like the officer was planning to have a little chat. “Octavius…” The name didn’t ring a bell for the soldier had met the other man once in a similarly exhausting, though far more mentally than physically damaging, situation, and they had introduced themselves by last name only.

Abbott kept talking, mentioning the Captain Commander and new orders, but Ber’s mind was hooked on a stray thought that had accompanied the delayed realization that men didn’t just randomly turn into werewolves. “Who?” Ber asked, clarifying a moment later because he did remember who Commander Usher was. “Turned him, I mean.” Another pause, then he remembered the rest of what the drill instructor said. Mostly. “New orders, sir?”

That didn’t seem right. How could they— How could they execute a witch for turning Octavius into a werewolf but not know who did it? Abbott was an officer, so he would know, right? Or maybe he didn’t know. Ber didn’t know. There were probably a lot of other people who also didn’t know. Maybe they would all find out one day. But actions had consequences. That he did know. “Yes, sir,” He agreed.

The aborted explanation about new orders had Ber’s brow furrowing in confusion. Now that Abbott mentioned it, he remembered someone showing up and addressing all of them in a really loud voice. Some of the words had registered, but even now, his mind was barely in any shape to be processing and retaining much of anything. For lack of something else to say, he offered another agreeable, “Okay, sir.”

Then Abbott asked him another question. Ber blinked at him for a moment. “Everything, sir,” He said briefly, before elaborating, “Um my head hurts a lot.” He gestured to the arm in the sling. “My shoulder. Hurts to breathe, too.” Another pause. “Got thrown across the room so I guess that’s not surprising.”