life like a flower

Leo wonders what the measure of death is, if people can come back from it in Zenith.

Leo concentrates on carefully peeling off each layer of Ephraim’s clothes, until his upper body is bare and Leo can take in the full picture of bruises and bleeding. He’s not shocked by it -- he’s seen too many injuries, starting at too young of an age -- but the resignation to this routine puts an unpleasant taste in his mouth.

“You’re better at this than you seem like you would be,” Ephraim murmurs, eyes half-lidded with fatigue. He looks better now that Leo’s wiped the dried blood off of his face, leaving only his split lip and a bruise right below his right eye where he’d taken the pommel end of a sword, which Leo carefully covers with a medical patch, lightly infused with a mix of herbs to soothe the pain and help speed the recovery. “Have I told you that before? I forget.”

Leo doesn't say what he thinks: yes, you’ve told me so many times now.