Lost Creek Hollow a lonesome star in a bitter sky

And as he soon discovered, he had reason not to thank her yet. He had expected a warning from her, some sort of obvious sign beyond her mashing and gnawing of the weary plants that would throw up flags to brace himself for a healing assault. It happened so quickly that he gave little consideration over his own reaction; the curling of his lips for a flash of teeth, the recoil away from her. But it was only passing, as Mordecai would not strike like a snake too ungrateful for her aid. Instead his teeth set evenly and the curl of a snarl unspoken dissipated. His ears splayed with mute apology, and he allowed her to continue.

Mordecai did not need to be told twice, or given explanation of what would happen if he did not let her tend to his wounds. Nor did he want to try and assess for himself the extent of such. Keeping himself conscious could have been considered a minor feat, though even had he been out cold the gentlest of her ministrations would have brought him to. Quietly, perhaps even solemnly, he drew his splayed ears back against the curve of his skull.