"What happened?"
"We found her past the creek." His hands are red to the wrist. He's not looking at me. "She wandered too far from the group."
"When?"
"An hour ago. Maybe less."
I pull back the bandage and my stomach drops.
The wound is deep—a slash across her forearm, jagged, rough blade—and the edges are already turning gray. Not healing gray. Dying gray. The flesh going dark around the cut, spreading outward in tendrils I know too well.
"Moonbright. They're using moonbright onchildrennow."
The child's mother is pushing through the crowd, face twisted. "Is she—will she—"
"She'll be fine. I need space. Everyone back up."
They don't back up. They're wolves, they crowd.
"Give her room." Keer's voice cuts through and bodies retreat.
I'm checking the child's pulse—fast, too fast, her skin burning hot under my fingers. Fever's already setting in.
"How long was she bleeding before you found her?"
"Maybe twenty minutes. She was hiding."
"Hiding?"
"She ran after the attack. Hid in a hollow log. We found her when she stopped answering calls."
Twenty minutes bleeding plus the run back. Poison's had time to spread, dig into her blood, start shutting things down. Hour? Less?
"I need my supplies. The jars, the clay ones, from my dwelling. NOW."
A young wolf takes off running.
"Dara!" I spot her at the edge of the crowd. "Boiled water. Not stream. Go."
"On it." She's already gone.
"What's her name?" The gray has spread past the wound edge. "How old is she?"
"Fenna. She just turned six."
"Fenna. Hi, sweetheart." The gray's crept past the bandage edge. Farther than I want. "Does she bounce back fast from cuts? Scrapes, bruises—heals quick?"
"Usually, yes, she's always—"
"Good." Six years old. Moonbright on a blade swung at a six-year-old. My hands keep working.
He's right beside me. Not in the way, so I keep working.
The wolf returns with my supplies and I grab the jar—yank off the lid—
Not enough.
A third of a jar. Maybe less. I've been using it steadily—Kestria's wound, minor treatments, the scraped knee of a pup who fell off a rock—and I didn't realize how low it was because I was busy doing other things. Things that weren't inventory. Things that involved bark and hands and—not now. Not now not now not now.
