Don't get attached, Lashan tells herself, looking away while he realizes the worn linen feels nice. Do not. The enclave is a halfway point for most who come here and they leave once they're on their feet or have picked up some useful skills and contacts, or both. It's safe here, shielded from the worst parts of the world outside, but freedom is limited. This boy won't be here for long and will leave with a pleasant memory and a full belly. That's all she can do for him. She's not going to bar him from leaving or strip her people of resources to make his way forwards easier.

"Got it in one." There are three centers of life here: the temple of the Twins, the refectory where meals are served and usually taken, and the bathhouse. There are heavy clay pipes trailing away from the single-story building, giving the water time to cool before it ends up irrigating gardens. Lashan racks her brain for advice for a child who probably hasn't been through this kind of facility before. She's not going to go in with him and have the usual tiring, frustrating conversation. This land is cold and benighted. "Get your clothes on a hook in the entry room, then go through the left door. Cold cisterns are for rinsing over the drains, hip tubs are for scrubbing, and the big hot ones are for soaking while clean, and then you end up back in the entry and can dry off. Don't leave soap in the bathwater and if you're thirsty there's ceramic pots with dippers."

If he soaks, and maybe even if he scrubs too fastidiously, it's going to saturate the bandages and they'll have to be reapplied along with ointment. Lashan isn't sure it will come to that, he's young and will probably come out with dirt still under his nails and behind his ears. "One thing first. You going to give me a name or do I have to make one up?"