Page 51 of Feral Gods
"Faster with proper care," she insists, and there's something in her tone—a mixture of genuine concern and stubborn determination—that I find myself unwilling to argue against.
"If you insist," I concede, oddly pleased by her attention despite my usual indifference to minor injuries.
We cross the threshold, the lodge’s chill immediately swallowed by the hearth’s low-burning warmth, the crude stone structure a far cry from the temple's ancient grandeur. A centralhearth provides warmth and cooking fire, while rough wooden partitions create semblance of private spaces within the single large room. Ravik and Zephyr look up from the makeshift table where they've been examining maps of the surrounding territory.
"Dark elf pursuit eliminated," I report without preamble. "Five elite warriors. One managed to activate a communications crystal before death."
Ravik's amber eyes narrow, the runes etched across his obsidian chest pulsing slightly with battle-readiness. "Range?"
"Unknown," I withdraw the broken crystal from my belt pouch, tossing it to Zephyr. "Short-range, most likely, but we should prepare for possible discovery."
Zephyr examines the shattered neptherium, his scholarly expression focused. "Limited broadcast capacity. Effective range perhaps five miles in ideal conditions. Less in these mountains."
"We should move regardless," Ravik decides, his commanding presence filling the crude space as effectively as it did the temple's grand halls. "This position was always temporary."
"The caves Zephyr mentioned yesterday?" Kaia suggests, setting down the water bucket near the hearth. "They're higher up the ridge, harder to access."
"And defensible," I add, appreciating her tactical thinking. "Single approach, natural chimney for smoke dispersal, multiple chambers for strategic withdrawal if necessary."
Ravik nods, decision made. "We move at dusk. Gather only essentials."
"Thane needs his wounds tended first," Kaia interjects, surprising all of us with her direct countermand of Ravik's implicit order to begin preparations immediately.
Ravik's amber gaze shifts to me, noting the injuries I'd dismissed as inconsequential. Something passes between us—unspoken male communication as old as competition itself. After a heartbeat, he inclines his head slightly.
"See to him," he tells Kaia, the command softened by a gentleness he rarely displays. "Zephyr and I will begin preparations."
As they move toward the rear of the lodge where our salvaged supplies are stored, Kaia gestures for me to sit on a crude bench near the hearth. "Let me get the healing salve."
I settle onto the bench, watching her retrieve a small clay pot from our medical supplies. She returns to kneel before me, her proximity sending an unexpected jolt of awareness through my battle-heightened senses. The scent of her—honey and clean skin with the subtle undertone of awakening magic—fills my nostrils, stirring primitive responses I've rarely experienced since our transformation.
"This might sting," she warns, dipping her fingers into the salve. "It's infused with tiphe sap for faster healing."
The coolness of the salve against my wounded forearm creates pleasant contrast to the warmth of her touch. I watch her work, fascinated by the delicate movements of her hands against my iron-black skin, the careful attention she gives to cleaning each wound before applying the healing mixture.
"You've done this before," I observe. "Tended battle injuries."
A shadow crosses her expressive features. "Lord Vathren's household included many guards. Sometimes they would return injured from skirmishes with rival houses."
"And they trusted a human slave with their care?" The concept seems unlikely given what I know of dark elf prejudice.
Her lips curve in a wry smile. "They didn't trust me. They simply considered me beneath notice—a tool rather than a threat. Invisible except when needed."
Anger flares at the casual cruelty implied in her statement. "Their arrogance will be their undoing."
"Perhaps," she allows, moving to the deeper gash across my ribs. "But it taught me useful skills. Hold still—this one needs proper cleaning."
She works in focused silence for several minutes, her gentle ministrations at odds with the brutal violence that caused my injuries. The dichotomy fascinates me—her capacity for tenderness despite the harsh realities of her existence, her strength emerging not from cruelty but from its opposite.
"Why did you follow us?" I ask suddenly, the question emerging unbidden. "That day in the temple, when we were retreating. You could have escaped through the tunnels alone, possibly avoided capture entirely without three conspicuous gargoyles drawing attention."
Her hands pause momentarily before resuming their careful work. "I never considered it."
"Why not?" I press, genuinely curious. "Self-preservation would dictate abandoning companions who bring additional danger."
She looks up, hazel-green eyes meeting mine directly. "Is that what you would have done? Abandoned wounded companions to save yourself?"
"No," I admit. "But I am a warrior. My code demands loyalty to battle-brothers."
