The Khry didn't try to go anywhere or so much as disturb him as they lay together through the night sharing warmth the smaller male needed more than he did. The temperature plummeted even further throughout the night but Malta was used to it. His blood didn't freeze like the delicate southerners. The fire burned through the night and he was comfortable even with the prisoner sharing his cot. He slept soundly and wasn't sure the same could be said for the elf. He was awake when Malta woke, early as always. He shifted over the elf, made more tea, and offered a bit of hardtack without any words to get them going. He dressed and indicated that the elf should do the same, handing him a fur shawl of his own to wrap around his slim frame. It fit around Malta once but he imagined the elf could wrap it twice if he so desired.<br/><br/>He was putting Vahit off, not reporting to him first thing but instead taking his time. No telling how the general would feel once he slept on the idea. Malta had found the young man and so far he'd seemed agreeable. He would say so but the decision to keep a prisoner around wasn't his to make and even if it was he wasn't sure it was fair to do so.<br/><br/>Reporting to the general was put off that much more when a soldier came to inform him one of his fellow brothers had taken a turn for the worst. It was courtesy to inform the others when it was perhaps time to say goodbye and Malta thanked him for letting him know with a solemn frown. With the gravity of the situation, there wasn't time to waste and the prisoner would have to come along. He didn't think about the consequences of what an enemy could do with the information. Even if he had it wasn't likely the Khry would have opportunity to tell anyone of their ailment. Malta laced his boots and jerked the little elf forward with a hand fisted into the fur, taking him along to the southeast area of the camp where they contained their sick. He slid the canvas aside at the entrance to let himself in. There were cots lined with men all in varying stages of the sickness. Malta touched the shoulder of one man, squeezing, that still had the strength left to smile but many of the others were too weak. They were ghosts of the soldiers they once had been, sapped of their strength and wasting away. No one seemed to have the energy to register the Khry behind Malta except the medic on staff.<br/><br/>“The prisoner has no business being here,” the man hissed.<br/><br/>“I was put in charge of him and I won't miss my opportunity just because he has no business being here,” Malta returned levelly, his voice calm. There was no further argument and Malta was led to the bed of a gaunt and rasping man, aged well beyond his years. His pallor was sickly and his skin fevered despite the harsh cold. They were the same age though it would be hard to tell. The sickness aged them beyond their years, even if they managed to recover. Their hair grayed prematurely from the stress and the elasticity to their skin didn't always return depending on how close they came to death. Malta laid a hand on the man's chest and looked at the elf.<br/><br/>“Tell me, have you see anything like this in the south?” They'd assumed it was a cold weather illness. The warmth seemed to help and that was why the fires were built up to what was almost uncomfortable.