It was strange to hear another person talk in her language, even if it was just a repeat of what she said. So rare was the speech of her people that she had a mind set on common now. He scooted closer to her, and if he felt any of her skin, it would feel not just like a dead person, but a cold dead person. How she was not shivering was amazing given her common response to when it got cold. It was clear however she held fast to the blanket.

A shared feel of sympathy was in her for her husband as he admitted his pain still prevailed, but joy was hidden in it as he expressed he could lay down now. She had seen him doing so and was sure he was far more comfortable before. It seemed that only when he was on her makeshift bed was he able to lay on his back with any small comfort. What it must have been like to not have that freedom she wondered.

"I'm sure tomorrow it will feel even better," she stated matter-of-factually.

He expressed he felt sick and she rose, stood before him and said, "Let me feel your forehead. My hands are really cold though, so maybe it will help you feel better?"

If he let her, she would scoop a hand in through his hair at the base of his neck and then one gently placed on his forehead. She wanted to make sure he wasn't getting a fever. The last thing she needed was for him to be bedridden from something else. She wanted him healed, cried and prayed for it, and wished she would have some way to bring him peace. Whenever she had a headache or any head pain, cool hands always felt good, particularly in the desert.