Stavanger Bay I don't mind if I smoke away your taste

Bridget did not mind the brush off, recognizing that she’d at least listened and heard. It wasn’t something she could rush and, as a mother, it was her choice when she felt the time was right. Hopefully by then she’d have helped some and Reverie would feel a little more optimistic about things. This first bad reaction had likely tempered some of that hope, and Bridget could only try and ensure the next would be more of a success.

As she’d hoped, the bleeding stopped on its own. Stemming it might have done more damage than good, locking the infection inside, so she was glad. Whatever was going on was too sporadic to be an open wound, but that didn’t mean it was nothing to worry about.

You’ll want to eat, if you can. And drink. I’ll bring you what he caught and some water. She didn’t move from where she was just yet, but looked out and watched for Reverie’s husband to appear. Lestan. She would remember that.

She could have argued that she could help the woman back herself, and not trouble him, but she recognized that his presence was different. A healer was no fill in for a mate (thankfully) despite the trust that might exist between them eventually. It was a different relationship by design.

And Bridget was good at this. Maybe too good, she thought silently, a touch of rueful melancholy to it. Tension aside, it had to be nice, knowing that someone was there when you called.