Trin opens his eyes and surveys the room before making any sudden moves. At his feet, the pallet is a mess of sheets, strewn out onto the floor. His dirty clothes and the wet towel are gone, the pants he wore earlier folded neatly on the windowsill. Aissa’s doing, more than likely. Blain probably had her do the wash and she brought them up once they were dry, hoping Trin would be awake to tell her what had happened with the gunner. With slow steps he crosses to the window and shakes the pants before stepping into them. The stains are faded but not entirely washed out. Aissa didn’t scrub them clean, just dunked the pants in soapy water perhaps, eager to rush up here to pester him. She’s a nosy sort. He’s surprised she didn’t kick the pallet on her way as she crossed the room, or pinch his n
