“To talk to the lantvihtir,” I murmured.
“What?” asked Sif. “Shhh, Hank. Don’t talk.”
“Kuthbyuhrn.”
“Yes,” she crooned. “Almost done here, Hank, and then I can stitch you up.”
“Magic,” I groaned.
“Not yet,” said Sif. “Let me be—I need to concentrate.”
“Fine,” I murmured, losing my grip on consciousness yet again.