Healer Morgana helps me out of the chair, and I waver. She sucks in a deep breath, looking firmly at the still tender wounds from the Werecat fight, as well as the bandages and oozing chest wound that has been reopened and infected from muddy slime water since she last saw it.

“Roland, what happened, boy? Tell me true, now.”

I go with humor as I try to ignore the many weapons and armor calling for my attention on the Imperial's walls. “A few cats decided they didn’t like a dog?”

Flash chuckles. “More like you took on four Werecats by yourself.” I shoot him a glare. He holds up his hands. “What? It’s truth!”

“Roland.” Morgana’s soft voice—her terrifyingly soft voice—brings my attention back to her. She sighs. “You’ve gotta take better care of yourself. Too much more and even I won’t be able to patch ya up.”

“Even us Shifter’s can only handle so much, Kinko.” Heather gently states. She picks up a pack that’s by the door, and hands me a long leather bundle. She smiles gently, but I smell the slightly sour scent of unease wafting from her with the typical lavender. “You forgot something.”

I pull out the wrapped manta ray dagger just enough to see the hilt. The boots and other items are in the bottom, along with the small, fur covered Ring and handkerchief. The scents there reminds me why I am still fighting with my every breath. There is a nostalgia and wistfulness for those years of peace to return. And so they will, if I have any say in it.

“Thank you.” I mean it with all my heart, deeply touched she remembered.

I had asked David to watch it while I went for a run... not knowing what would lay ahead. But Heather remembered.

She blushes slightly, but holds my gaze.

“Ugh, it’s too mushy in here.” Flash says with a disdainful curl of his lip.

The others laugh as I settle for a smile. Despite Flash’s words, he tugs the bag from me as the weakness on my shoulders grows.

“I’ll save it for you.” He says shortly, avoiding my gaze.

“Thanks.” I smile at the disgruntled cat who looks at the bag as if it’ll bite him.

"How did you two get here so soon?" I inquire of Healer Morgana.

She grunts. "When Heather came rushing in yelling 'bout a cat attack, we knew. David has a few friends who hang 'round, waiting for word. They have a Berserk who is smaller than her peers, built for speed. She's a beaut, and sassy as I'll get out. But she's what we need when the Empire comes for Videlia."

That's when my brain finally catches up. This is where David intends to bring the women and children. He means to bring them to a Werecat camp of fugitives.

They tug me out the door while I'm still overwhelmed by the ramifications of this and unable to form any coherent words.

There is quite the crowd gathered outside. The sun rises higher in the brisk morning sky, bringing a warmth that even reaches this high in the mountains. There is a bite to the air and the scent of fresh icy cold that tells of a coming snow. I shiver, even as the sun beats down on my back.

Zephora throws a coat over my shoulders, and I look at her in surprise.

She avoids my gaze. "No need for you to get a cold on top of everything else, now is there?"

She'd be the last one I'd pick to share a coat with me. She doesn't even like me.

I shrug off Shefa Bridge’s help and stand straight. Animals smell weakness; better to hide it. The path to Shefa Bridge’s home is longer than I’d like. It seems to never end with my limping gait as I feel prying eyes on my back and torso.

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If I’m honest, I remember little of the walk back besides telling myself to put one foot in front of the other.

Shefa Bridge casts a look of obvious disdain at my impudence to avoid help, but a mere glimmer of respect lies there, as well.

At the moment, I only care about sitting down. Gaining respect is not at the top of my list. Now, making sure I don’t become an easy meal for the hungry eyes surrounding us is quite important for my wellbeing once I’m out of said bed.

At least the healer’s hut is only six down from the Imperial's standing. It’s a humble abode, not much different from the earthen tones around it. The straw is fresh on the roof, and there is a small herb garden with yellowing plants growing throughout the yard.

The inside is beautiful. Woven tapestries of blue and gold are set in the center of the walls, both to my right and left. One depicts a great golden dragon clawing his way through shifters with a man upon his back. The other is a flowing waterfall of vast might and overflowing courage set in a redwood forest, the red leaves of the trees laced with golden veins. In front of me is a cluttered desk of books and herbs and small jars containing liquids.

A door leads to another smaller room that overflows with a multitude of earthy herbal scents and the harsh sharpness of herb infused tinctures.

I don’t remember the Imperial departing from my little group, but he is gone. The Masters would be appalled at my lack of observation skills. For whatever reason, that makes me smile.

I stagger as the door closes behind me, leaving me alone with two healers, a wolf, and a cat.

There's a stirring sensation in my chest to bolt out the window beside the door.

Morgana places her hand on my shoulder in a stern but not unkind grip, and I manually strangle the impulse to attack. “Oh, no ya don’t. I didn'a travel miles on a half-wild Berserk to go chasing after a stubborn wolf.”

She guides me to the bed. I sit when she gives me a stern glare. You either obey her prompting, or you dodge her foot or cane.

I sigh. “I’m not making it out of this one, huh?” I ask Flash. He seems the only sane one here; maybe because he’s the only other male.

He stands by the door with a smirk on his face and hands folded across his chest as he watches the ladies bustle around, coaxing the fire back to life and putting together herbs that make my nose itch.

“Nope.” He says in a low, soft voice with a hint of sympathy.

A flash of cold makes me suck in a breath as Shefa Bridge smears a yellow gunk on the still healing claw marks on my ribs. They are each two finger widths and around two hand lengths long. It actually went pretty deep. Probably will need stitches. I wince at the thought.

Morgana cuts a path up my pants, making me squeak. I try to turn that extremely embarrassing sound into a cough. Flash bursts out laughing, unaware that it’s not safe to laugh at an irritable ex-assassin Shifter. It’s extremely bad for the health. His health.

I glare at him. If I could stand, there is nothing that would stop me—maybe knock a fang or two out.

Shefa Bridge sucks in a sharp breath. “What is that?” She asks.

Zephora grimaces as she sees the wound in my thigh.

Flash abruptly stops laughing and comes to get a better look.

I chuckle. Everyone looks at me as if I’ve grown another head. What? I can’t escape; I might as well laugh about being gawked at like some exotic pet.

Morgana rolls her eyes and clicks her tongue at me, but there is a resigned concern on her face. “A silver arrow from over a week past. Seems ta be infected.”

Black lines race to the hole in my leg, while it’s red and puffy. It’s strange, but I can’t seem to feel the pain besides a dull ache.

That's because I've been holding it back and helping you stay alive. You're welcome. The voice comments, sounding strained.

Flash whistles. “I thought you were joking about the silver. How’d he survive?”

“I’m right here, you know.” I can’t help but put in; they ignore me.

“Best as I can tell, ‘is human blood kicked out the silver. He ‘bout bled out before he let me stitch it.” Morgana's still a bit peeved at that.

“I had to flush it, or I’d have died.” I grumble.

“The stab wound is likewise infected.” Zephora says. “I packed it before we rushed here.”

Cold hands gently ease the bandage from my chest. They use water to ease the parts away that are stuck with dried blood.

“It looks worse than it did.” Zephora's voice is wavering, as if fearful or close to crying. I didn’t take her for the crying type.

“Honey, ya did the best you could with what ya had. This dragon headed Shifter here just has a canny knack for getting into the absolute worst of situations. Thankfully, he’s much too stubborn to die.” Healer Morgana says, a wrinkled hand smoothing Zephora's brow.

Zephora's face seems to ease, or perhaps everything is just getting blurry.

The wall the bed sits against is a wonderfully hard place to rest my head. Everything is spinning, leaving me dizzy.

Someone puts their hand on my head. “Ya’re burning up, honey.” Morgana.

“I’ll be alright... after I rest... a bit.” My words are a drunken slur.

“Sure ya will. Ya’d be fine after having yur head cut off. Just sleep."

"We’ll take good care of you," another voice says.

Those words bring back memories. They sound like a punch line to a joke from a morbid assassin. A line I would've used, once upon a time. But her voice, soft and caring, lulls me into complacency.

A pinch on my arm almost brings me back to the waking world, but then soothing warmth comes from that point and eases into the cold and shivering places within me. I nod off as black spots flash. The embrace of darkness enfolds me.