"Fourteen months," he repeated like an echo. He could barely comprehend that it had been that long. How had he lived through? Ah but he hadn't, he'd died hadn't he? Somehow he'd forgotten that amongst it all.

His eyes turned to the side of the carriage and down to the blanket over him, he looked at the fabric as he breathed in the clean air, it seemed to hurt his lungs as he felt it.

"Somewhere safe," he said. And of course even now he was aware. Aware of what he might hold from being where he had. Aware of the conditions objectively even if he couldn't feel or see it on himself. And of course somewhere within himself was still a distant semblance of vanity.

"You shouldn't see me like this."