The tent smelled of herbs—sharp, bitter wolfsbane and something sweeter, like moon-clover left too long in the sun. Three women worked around me in quiet, practiced movements. Two were older, silver threading their dark hair, their hands steady as they unwrapped the blood-crusted splint from my ankle. The third was younger—maybe twenty-five—her fingers quick and gentle as she cleaned the gash on my forehead with a damp cloth.
They hadn't spoken much since they'd arrived. I knew all their names, Lira, Mara, and Eira.
They gave quiet orders to each other:
"Hold the leg steady,"
"More poultice here,"
"She's burning up."
I lay on my back on the furs, staring at the canvas ceiling, trying to breathe through the pain. My ankle was worse than yesterday it had swollen to twice its size, I refused to look at it..I didn't want to look at it .it was grotesque the fact that it was on my body.
I'd been biting my lip to keep me from crying out"
Kael had been… nice.
Too nice.
