“I’m fine,” Qurrah said, his voice raspy and weak.

“Come on,” Harruq said, hoisting him to his feet and then bracing his weight against his shoulder. “Let’s get you safe.”

“You’re hurt,” Qurrah said, looking him over.

Harruq chuckled.

“Forget me,” he said. “My little bruises got nothing on yours.”

The two half-orcs left the small alley and traveled south along the main streets of Veldaren. Harruq kept his arms around his brother, leading him through the crowd. Whenever he could he stole a glance to see how Qurrah was holding up. From the grimaces of pain, he didn’t think too well.

“Just hang on,” he said, putting himself in the way whenever someone jostled them or refused to move. “We’re almost home.”

“We have no home,” Qurrah said.

“It’s got a roof,” Harruq said, but didn’t press the matter further. He felt the eyes of strangers watching him. Some even walked into him, as if loathe to acknowledge his existence. Street urchin such as the two Tun brothers were often ignored, and their orcish blood only made matters worse.

“Wooh-wee, someone gave you what’s what,” one of the vendors called out as they passed.

“Ignore him,” Qurrah said.

They reached their home, a building abandoned after a fire gutted its upper and lower floor. Harruq had found that if they were careful, they could climb up to the second floor and lay where the damage was less. From it they had a clear view of the stars, something both brothers were fond of watching when the nights were warm and the weather calm.

“I can’t climb,” Qurrah said, glancing at the broken stairs with a wince.

“Not a problem,” Harruq said. He lifted Qurrah into his arms and then gingerly took the first step. They held, so he took another, and step after careful step he ascended to the upper floor. When he laid his brother down, Qurrah clutched his arms to his chest and erupted into a violent coughing fit.