Broken Boulder ne t’enfermes pas dans ta chambre

He softened his eyes at her, hoping to soothe her protest. It didn't take much convincing--she finally bent and lapped them up, then nodded at his inquiry. Relieved to have been given the go-ahead (he would have gone ahead, regardless, but it was nice to make children feel as though they had some agency) Zamael began to groom her, spreading the paste over the wound on her leg.

It was soothing, or at least it would be if she stayed still and didn't squirm. He began to relax, himself, during the course of his work, eyelids drooping slightly as he continued on. When he had finished, the man straightened, lips puckered slightly from the pungent taste of oak on his tongue.

"Those berries were okay to eat, I promise," he assured her, addressing her earlier concern. Zamael fixed her with a gimlet stare. "But don't ever eat a plant unless Alarian or I say it's okay." His brother, beyond himself, was the only wolf he trusted to give herbal advice. There were two other categories of beings: ones who meant well, but were fucking stupid, and evil bastards that meant the girl harm. He would not let this girl--nor any of the innocents--fall victim to either of these characters.