"Lose his entire wolf. Yes. Don't say bite me anywhere near him."
"Noted. Officially noted. Stricken from the vocabulary. I yield bite me. Bite me is retired."
"Mel. You are still saying bite me."
"I'm saying it in retirement context. The retirement applies to general usage. Whereas if I want Keer to bite me—"
"MELORI."
"What."
"That is my BROTHER. Stop."
"I was clarifying the exemption—"
"There is no exemption."
She kisses the top of my head—not a feat, given height differentials—and moves on toward the roof. I watch her go. I don't think about the shirt. I think about the shirt for one beat.
Across the clearing, Dara has the healing station set up under a lean-to. The station's hers now. Has been since the standoff—she has steady hands and I have animals and that turned out to be the right division of labor. I help if she calls. So far she hasn’t.
A human man—one of Minette's, broad and sweating—is sitting on the stump with his hand out. His thumb is the color of an eggplant.
"Hammer?"
"Hammer."
"Yourself?"
"Yes."
"Excellent."
She wraps the thumb. He looks at her.
"Will I lose it?"
"No."
"Will it heal?"
"Yes."
"Will it stop hurting?"
"No."
"...thank you?"
"Don't smash it again."
He nods and leaves with his thumb in the air. She raises a hand at me without looking. I raise one back.
A shadow falls across the rail.
Cedar.
I don't turn around immediately because I have just decided I am a person with self-control. The decision lasts approximately two seconds.
