The room is too clean. 

What a funny thought to have. What a funny problem to have. But there you have it. The room’s too clean. The, colors, and the layout, the, you can’t hear anything in here. He can hardly hear Contribution breathing, and he’s right next to him. There ought to be more here. It’s all wrong. It can’t be this clean. It shouldn’t.

He’s got to keep moving. That’s important. He’s not to be still. Nothing good comes of staying still. How far is it to the floor? He feels around blindly with his dangling hoof, and sooner or later he finds solid ground. Sooner or later, he’s standing, and he’s clinging to Contribution’s thin arm. One hoof up. One hoof down. In front of the other. Keep moving. That’s important. 

He feels a gentle tug. He stops. He’s still holding Contribution’s arm. Contribution isn’t moving. He tugs, on purpose this time. “Come,” somebody says, and it might be him. “You ought to get cleaned up too.”

There are enough showers. There’s an open one, right next to his. One hoof in front of the other, he walks Contribution to it. And the Summerkind keeps moving, all the way into the stall. All the way until the door is closed behind him. And Dolce keeps moving, all the way into his stall. Until the door closes. Until the water runs down his face, and he realizes he might’ve ought to have taken off his clothes. 

Here, at least, there’s the sound of water. There’s the feel of steam. There’s the muffled rush of water from Contribution’s shower next door. There’s something here. It’s not too clean here. 

He breathes. In. Feel the water running down his face. Feel the warmth clouding all around him. Out. Hear the patter of water on his horns. Hear the faint shudder of his own breath. And repeat. He remembers, it’s important to keep breathing, slow and steady, after…after. 

It’d helped the Privateers to hear that. When they came back. Those who came back. He never knew how to say it, exactly. Every way sounded wrong. He did his best. He’s doing his best. He’s breathing, and that’s important, and. Even if no one would notice the extra moisture in this downpour. He has to keep moving.

So he sets his clothes aside. So he picks out the shrapnel. So he makes a lather, and washes one arm, the other, then his face, like he does every morning. Today. Today he’ll skip the conditioner. One day won’t harm much. Wool is durable stuff. So long as he keeps moving. He has to keep moving.

His ears flick. He still hears Contribution’s shower running.

He can stay a few minutes longer. He can rinse off a little more thoroughly.