Firefly Glen Nighttime coming

crowfeather began to work over his wound.

it was more fussiness than germanicus would have ever given himself. the floral scent mingled with the fragrance of copper, lifting in a fragrance that slowly dissipated between them.

crowfeather retreated, and the ranger inspected the mended edges of his wound, the poultice that the shadow had applied. "ager medicus," he muttered, impressed once more at the boy's latent range of skills.

"i am your willing patient." the watchful expression lifted carefully to that of crowfeather.