Broken Boulder this is gospel for the fallen ones

Yikes. Zamael bowed his muzzle delicately at Alarian's body on the ground in answer to Delight, unable to keep a glint of humor from his eyes. He always had the knack of finding the comical in any situation, no matter how dark. Black comedy was a bitch, and not everyone really got it. Surely Alarian wouldn't find it funny. The fuck was he thinking, anyway? His lips firmed, and he took a deep, meditative breath before speaking again.

"Feverfew," he said, directing his attention to Alarian. "Helps a headache. There's some leaves over here; I prepared a bundle for your while you were out." A big bundle, for the biggest fucking headache of his brother's life. He nosed the greenery toward the Governor, hoping he had the strength to move his muzzle a centimeter and ingest the stuff.

He emerged slightly from the shadows, fixing his fiery stare on Delight. "Well, he's awake," he responded--unnecessarily--while keeping his voice low. "Long road to recovery. That fuckwad Runion cracked his head pretty hard."