"Shave, but be careful," Burrich told me.

I could almost remember how. The smell of the soap, the hot water on my face. But the sharp, sharp blade kept cutting me. Little cuts that stung. I looked at the man in the round glass afterward. Fitz, I thought. Almost like Fitz. I was bleeding. "I'm bleeding everywhere," I told Burrich.

He laughed at me. "You always bleed after you shave. You always try to hurry too much." He took the sharp, sharp blade. "Sit still," he told me. "You've missed some spots."

I sat very still and he did not cut me. It was hard to be still when he came so near to me and looked at me so closely. When he was done, he took my chin in his hand. He tipped my face up and looked at me. He looked at me hard. "Fitz?" he said. He turned his head and smiled at me, but then the smile faded when I just looked at him. He gave me a brush.

"There is no horse to brush," I told him.

He looked almost pleased. "Brush this," he told me, and roughed up my hair. He made me brush it until it would lie flat. There were sore places on my head. Burrich frowned when he saw me wince. He took the brush away and made me stand still while he looked and touched beneath my hair. "Bastard!" he said harshly, and when I cowered, he said, "Not you." He shook his head slowly. He patted me on the shoulder. "The pain will go away with time," he told me. He showed me how to pull my hair back and tie it with leather. It was just long enough. "That's better," he said. "You look like a man again."

I woke up from a dream, twitching and yelping. I sat up and started to cry. He came to me from his bed. "What's wrong, Fitz? Are you all right?"