Stavanger Bay I. The flames climbed in to the clouds.

He was not in an accepting state of mind, and would've rather been left to his own devices (stubborn, like his brothers and sisters, until the very end), but she was quick to offer her services and the mention of patching wounds made Revui think of Speedy and the raspberry leaves. The question of whether this person could be trusted had not entered his mind; he was not being difficult out of spite, but out of weakness. Revui loathed that he was so weak — that he could be a target, whether she means him ill or not — but he does not know enough about herbs and medicine to counter her offer. It would be best if he accept, and he knew it.

The boy managed to get up again. He trundled a few steps and then stopped when he had gotten nearer to her, dropping his rump in to the snow, and after a few moments to catch his breath he shifted his weight so that his bloody chest and shoulder could be looked at. His way of accepting, one might suppose. The blood was thoroughly matted in to his tangled fur but the wound itself was in the process of stitching itself back together. In another week or so he'd have been well enough to roam his family's mountain but it was his sudden sprint away from Moonspear that had torn apart all the good the healers had done.