Swiftcurrent Creek Heal the wounds of my soul

Razo’s expression didn’t waver from casual amusement when Jace seemed to refuse to let up and loosed a little sass of his own. He couldn’t have known that it had actually sparked a hint of inner unrest in the swarthy, battered male, and as a personal preference the tawny stray thought it a marked improvement to his otherwise too-stoic, too-literal personality. It elicited a very slight bit of egotism, really, that he had affected such a gentle, straight-forward creature so easily. Then again, Jace was young and probably easily affected at the best of times, and the egotism was forgotten, though not at all punctured.

He acknowledged the thanks he was offered with a curt nod, but said nothing. He then listened as Jace explained why he felt Ferdie deserved attending to and heard much of what he’d expected. Razo wasn’t a healer out of kindness or because he really wanted to help anyone else at all. To him, the skill was just a tool he’d used on many occasions to gain access to what he wanted, and because the background duties associated left him to his own devices, enabling him to become an elusive shadow whenever he so fancied. Those tasks also fell in line with hunting and tracking, which took him everywhere and for the most part did not require the presence of others.

I’m aware, he said knowingly with a hint of severity in his eyes when Jace assured him that whatever he chose to do was up to him. Then if you don’t need anything else, I’ll be off. He stood to leave, but paused long enough to look the male over one last time while he awaited response. He might have been becoming accustomed to Jace’s company, and he couldn’t have that.