Samuel looped his arms around Milo's neck, tucking his face into his shoulder as he was carried back to the bed. Heavens but he wanted his legs to heal. He wanted to see if he could even walk anymore, or if he'd have to relearn. Once he was dried off, he used his arms, weak as they were, to scoot back more, needing this moment to himself before Luke rejoined them. When Luke mentioned that Milo had to go, his face fell. He'd been hoping to be held by them both. Was it too selfish of him?<br/><br/>Perhaps he was being too needy, too demanding. He didn't know anymore, but he withdrew on himself and didn't say anything further. When Luke climbed into the bed, Samuel turned towards him, resting his head against his chest. Tears flowed out, relief that he'd been saved overwhelming him. He sobbed quietly and gripped onto his shoulders. In his mind he prayed, wishing for absolution from all this. "Thank you for saving me," he sniffed. Using the bed cover, he wiped his tears off, and exhaustion soon followed. He was asleep within minutes.<br/><br/>Samuel slept for an entire day this time. There was no stirring, but it would have given Milo ample time to go get more holy water. During that time Sam's legs had finally healed, having purged enough corruption to rejuvenate him. However, his wings looked almost cupid like, not remotely fully grown back, but they were at least recovering. He stretched, letting out a sigh of relief that his legs no longer hurt. Though that was soon followed by sorrow, and his eyes closed, praying heavenward for the strength to get through all this.