Otatso Wetlands mmm, make it right.

qiao’s gaze apprised her familiar. he was wounded but alive; blood trickled his leg. everything she saw pointed to non-fatal.

come, she whisked away the mutant boy, who was joined by his wriggling brother. 

she motioned for stormchaser to sit, drawing from her thin furskin a tired sea sponge still damp with salt water. this she pressed to his cuts, inspecting it with a keen eye before setting her tools aside. superficial. go stand in the river for five minutes each morning. qiao growled, turning back to the duo of children. 

qiao’s long fingers jabbed at riot’s flank. give me your name, child. and then to rowdy: and yours, too.