The girl walked up to Velles, torn cloth in hand. She seemed to be shaking just a little bit. Slowly, Velles reached out and closed his hand around the pieces of fabric. He lifted them gently from her hand, then brought them to the pile of his other bandages created from his coat. “Thank you,” Velles said, smiling at her. “These bandages probably mean the difference between life and death for me.” He began to tie some of the strips around his wounds, pressure tight, to stop the bleeding. Others he used as a rag to wipe away the black ooze from his face and his wounds. Velles didn’t know what it was, but it couldn’t be good for the wounds. While he worked, he talked.
“So... this place. How long have you and your friend been here?”