Fahon approached, pulled up a chair, and sat next to me, his massive forearms leaning on his legs. His huge back stretched the black fabric of an oversized T-shirt, but despite barely fitting him in the shoulders, the shirt was a foot too long.
The shapechangers had a fondness for sweats, and Fahon was wearing Brad sweatpants and no socks. His hairy feet rested on the sun-warmed floor.
His brown eyes met my gaze. "The Sect appreciates your sacrifice."
"There was no sacrifice. I'm alive."
And Ben is burned to charcoaly crispness.
He shook his head. "The sacrifice was intended and we're grateful. You have earned the trust and friendship of the Sect. You may visit us when you wish. You may ask us for help in a time of need, and we'll do our best to aid you. It's no small thing, Alder."
I probably should have said something formal and flowery, but Demerol kept tangling my thoughts. I patted his big hand and mumbled, "Thanks."
Fahon's eyes were warm. "You're welcome."
