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"How long was I out?"
Sven checked his equipment piece by piece. It seemed like he hadn’t lost anything while he was unconscious.
‘I’m a lucky man. I can’t believe it was Urich who found me.'
Anyone else, like a bandit or even another traveler, might have stolen his armory at the very least. If really unlucky, he could have been sold into slavery.
"I don't know how long you've been out. Anyway, how long have you been feeling ill?"
"The coughing started up when the civil war began. Never had a cold in my life, but then the coughing got worse, so I knew something was up, kehehe."
Sven let out a raspy laugh. It seemed like breathing was quite laborious for him.
"You think it’s terminal?" Urich asked as he poked around the campfire with a stick he found.
"Judging by the bloody cough, it seems my time is limited. I’m feeling less and less energy every day."
"Where are you trying to go in this condition?"
"Me? What about you? I thought you'd be enjoying yourself with booze and food in the Uscall territory by now."
"I really don't fancy indulgence... it makes my senses dull. Been there before."
Urich gazed at the dying fire, his eyelashes flickering.
"You are young, and time is on your side. No one would blame you for enjoying it a little bit. Cough."
Sven...
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