Rosewater Oasis fight, little wolf, fight

The warmth of Saleem's shoulder aligning with his lent strength to Sylianos. It made the raging pain and heat in his haunch almost bearable and cut through the faint haze of fever and infection that dulled his eyes. For a moment, Sylianos almost considered that they could fuck this guy up for laughs.

Then the dark wolf turned and left, rendering the ridiculous thought moot. You better run, he mumbled. When Soto was fully out of sight, he sat down with a wince. Fucking shit, he growled, I wish mom was here. That he would ever admit it aloud, even to the other half of his soul, spoke volumes about his plight.

When Soto returned with weathered and wilty plants, Sylianos was unable to regain his footing to make a second stand. He was too shaky, too badly in need of a rest. Just a little rest and he would be better; that was what he repeated in his head while the man presented his plants to Saleem and spoke up in a tongue Sylianos had never heard.

No amount of denying his condition could render it false. If those plants were medicine, he needed them badly, or who knew what would happen. Neither he nor Saleem knew shit about medicine. The sheer hope of someone simply giving them the treatment threatened to haul him forward and scoop up every last bit of shriveled greenery into his selfish mouth, no questions asked. If life had taught him anything, though, it was that no one did nice deeds just to feel good about themselves. There was always a cost.

He looked to his brother for guidance. Saleem would know what price was worth paying. Much as he wanted to tell this guy to go fuck a deer antler, he couldn't bring himself to refuse outright. Not with that little glimmer of hope for recovery flapping around in his breast.