I'd spent most of pre-dawn after that curled up beside her in wolf form, to the annoying smile of Martha Callaway who seemed to think that such a thing did not at all make it any less intimate for a pair of werewolves.
The herbal steams she prepared did seem to work. Kyrie's breathing had a much more peaceful sound and the few times she did cough up something, into a provided bowl, I could feel the thin but ominous sense of desolation for what was inside it.
Silver gathered in her mucus and expelled like an allergen… and compared to all that sickness, I was out here enjoying the scent of dew-wet grass. The morning air and a nearby herb garden filled my nose as I sat on the witch's back porch steps.
> And the chicken coops, of course. Can't exactly not smell that… <
