Success or not, I can’t rest on my laurels. If nothing else, this experience has taught me that I’m going to need to seriously put some practice in before I can dream of reaching the level of proficiency in healing which I had with Lay-on-hands.

I can’t spend that long healing a tiny cut. Not when I’m probably going to have to heal gashes which are ten times worse, or deal with poisoning, or perforated organs. It’s a relief to know that I will still be able to heal my Bound; now I need to be able to do so reliably and quickly.

To that end, though, I’m going to have to ask River to do something I really don’t want to: hurt himself so I have something to heal. I look up at him and I suppose that my reluctance comes across the link.

Just ask, River tells me calmly. I sigh.

“I don’t want to, but…it’s unfortunately necessary. I need things to heal,” I tell him, my mouth twisting into a grimace.

So you need to create wounds on me to practise on? River checks, still as calm as before.

“Yes,” I admit.

Do you wish to do it or have me use my claws? I’m astounded at how well he’s taking it. If someone had told me I needed to submit myself to their mad scientist experiments, I’d have told them where to go. River seems to sense my disbelief, or maybe I accidentally project my thoughts down the Bond to him.

You need to do this in order to improve your healing to help us while we are in combat, yes? I nod. Then why would I not be willing to help? Pain is fleeting, especially when you are able to heal it away shortly after. Death because you couldn’t heal my wound quickly enough after a fight is much more permanent.

He’s right, and frankly, his thinking matches my own. It’s just I hadn’t expected him to see the logic straight away. Maybe that’s a projection of my own failings on him, though. Or maybe I’m still reacting illogically to things: I sense that my emotions have become steadier since reaching twenty in Constitution, but they don’t feel entirely settled.

Pushing that thought away for consideration later, I turn my attention back to the task at hand.

“Thank you for your understanding,” I say genuinely. “I just need a cut for now, it doesn’t matter where. As for whether you should use your claw on yourself or I should cut you with my knife, that’s up to you. What would you be most…well, not comfortable with, exactly, but….” I trail off, hoping that he’ll fill in the missing words without me needing to explicitly say them. Fortunately, he seems to, as he looks at his claws thoughtfully.

I suppose that a claw would be more true to life: I am unlikely to be injured by a blade. Not one like yours, anyway.

“That’s true,” I admit. “If you’re OK with it then?” In answer, River lowers one of his claws to his inner thigh and puts pressure on it. His scaled skin resists, even though he’s probably chosen an area with minimal defence. With a bit more pressure, though, the sharp claw pierces through. Discomfort comes across the Bond between us and his spikes flash faintly red as he starts trying to drag down.

“Wait, that’s enough!” I tell him. Clearly his claws are better for piercing than slicing, and I don’t want him to undergo more pain than absolutely necessary. He stops as soon as I speak and pulls his claw away. Blood wells up slowly, the colour darker than my own, though still red. A different balance of minerals, perhaps? Or less oxygenated than my blood?

My scan of his body didn’t tell me that kind of thing: it indicated what was ‘wrong’ in the body, as well as, by implication, what was ‘right’, but it didn’t tell me the details of everything. Although I was able to estimate what each aspect of his body did, that was based on my own knowledge of anatomy, and what remains from Lay-on-hands. There’s a reason why I wasn’t able to exactly identify what River’s extra organs do. So knowing the exact nutritional and mineral profile of his blood is a bit beyond me. At this level, anyway.

Wondering if reducing the distance would help, I place my hand over the wound without actually putting any pressure on it. Focussing, I once more go into myself and repeat the process of pulling mana from my Core, directing it down the channels, then out of the channels and into my fingers.

After I’ve crossed the barrier of skin, I once more find myself in the other space which is felt as much as it is seen. Knowing ‘where’ to go, I focus on directing the mana towards the wound. I reckon that putting my hand over it has helped: the wound feels like it’s very close already. I’d had to travel a lot further in the body in order to find the scratch I healed last time.

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Knitting the flesh together is a little more involved this time as a few capillaries were pierced in River’s self-harm, but I’ve already had some practice with that, at least, in my own bout of knife-play. It goes quickly, though I realise once I’ve knitted everything together that something still feels ‘wrong’ about the area.

Since I still have a bit of mana – I did have to pop back into my own body to grab some more when I started running low – I stay and try to figure it out. My magic is telling me something, but it’s like it’s speaking in a language which is not quite English. Or like it’s a voice which is whispering just slightly too low for me to catch the words.

Still, as I stay and focus on it, I find that it becomes slightly clearer. Instead of understanding the words, I start to get a sense of there being something…foreign? Something in the wound which should not be there. Suddenly, it strikes me. Foreign bodies!

Of course, River’s claw wouldn’t be as clean as the metal blade which I had intentionally sterilised. Though I thought I’d already done that while healing the wound – certainly, removing dirt and bacteria which could have been introduced is something I know should be part of the process. So what could this be?

I focus more on the wound again, trying to determine what I’m sensing. Whatever is irritating my senses is rapidly disappearing, being broken down by the body. Within a short space of time, the sense of ‘wrongness’ is gone and I feel like the healing is complete without needing to actually do anything.

Returning to my own body, still baffled, I leave the few units of mana I had left in River, wondering if they will do anything.

Pulling out of meditation, I stare unseeingly at River’s thigh, mentally paging through the possibilities.

Ma-Markus? the lizard-man asks tentatively. I’m pulled out of my thoughts, briefly distracted.

“You’re still having trouble just saying my name?” I ask him, trying to keep the judgement out of both my thoughts and my voice. He looks away.

I’m sorry, he responds apologetically. I sigh.

“Look,” I start, not sure where I’m intending on taking this. “What do you want to call me? And why?” I ask. River cocks his head sideways, looking at me again.

I believe we already discussed this. I serve you in repayment of the debt I owe you. And because you offer protection and resources. I called the Herbalist master too while I served her. Similarly, she offered her protection and access to more resources than I would have had by myself. It’s my turn to tilt my head.

“It’s not just the Bond making you want to call me master, then? It’s part of your culture?”

I do not know about ‘culture’, but each of the Pathwalkers in the village had the right to take on an assistant. In exchange for the assistant helping her to gain the resources she needs to conduct her craft, eliminating the necessity for the Pathwalker to herself venture into danger, she offers protection and guaranteed access to food. I frown.

“Why would you need a guaranteed access to food? You’re good at hunting.” River shakes his head.

It is forbidden for hatchlings and unevolved adults to hunt for themselves. All resources gathered must be brought back to the village in exchange for tokens. Different numbers of tokens allow access to different communal carcasses which, in turn, offers the opportunity to fill one’s belly or not, depending on how many others have access to the same carasses. The penalties for disobedience are…steep.” I sense the pain that accompanies whatever memory he’s considering, and decide that it’s not something I should dig into further.

I don’t know how to feel about this. On the one hand, it’s barbaric to think that they might deny food to the very lizard-kin who collected it in the first place. On the other, I suppose that it’s not all that different from how serfs in the middle ages were treated: the requirement to labour for the lords and be taxed for everything they did.

Perhaps serfs had a little more guaranteed access to the food they worked for, but in lean years, they were probably expected to send the same amount of food to the lord’s table and might not be left with anything for themselves. How was this much worse than that?

I shake my head and return back to the question of the day. Ultimately, it looks like it’s my own reluctance to seem like the bad guy here that’s causing issues. And maybe, if it’ll make River more comfortable, I should accept the reminder of my actions. Because ultimately, I did essentially enslave River. That he agreed to it due to his village being under threat doesn’t make it much better. Maybe I’m just being selfish here, in asking him to adapt his vocabulary to me, on top of ripping him away from his life.

I know he feels like he owes me a debt, but I still feel that if anything, I’m the one who owes the debt here.

“Look, if you want to call me ‘master’” and my stomach twists uncomfortably as I say it, “then do so. I’m perfectly happy with you calling me ‘Markus’, prefer it even, but I want you to be comfortable. So don’t feel the need to correct yourself – just go with whatever feels natural, alright?”

River looks uncertain but tilts his chin up a little and sends a sense of agreement over the Bond. I guess I’ll have to be satisfied with that.

So, back to the topic at hand. What was the foreign body which was in the wound? And can I do anything with the mana I left in River’s body?

Regarding the latter, I realise that I can still sense it, even without touching River.

“Don’t move,” I tell him, and stand up, slowly moving backwards. I lose contact with the mana about five steps away. It’s like a tenuous thread between us has been cut. When I go back into range, I’m unable to reconnect to it. I move my hand towards River’s leg once more. “May I?” I ask, looking up at him, not wanting to touch him without his consent. When he indicates that it’s fine, I touch him with my finger tips.

The mana I’d left in him suddenly rushes towards my fingers, and the connection is quickly reestablished. I sit back on my heels and consider what’s just happened.