"That's—" I stare at him. "Him. The man wearing my tunic."
Kestria's mouth trembles. "Don't."
"The tunic that barely fits. The one with the little flowers I embroidered on the hem—"
"Stop—"
"The Alpha of thirty werewolves is currently wearing a tunic with embroidered daisies—"
Kestria claps a hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking, eyes streaming. "I hate you," she wheezes. "My ribs—"
"Sorry. Sorry." I'm not sorry. "Fifteen minutes. Rest."
Nugget has found something in the dirt and she's scratching at it, head bobbing, pink feathers ridiculous against the ferns. At least one of us is having a good time.
I lean against the tree next to Kestria and pull Nugget's basket closer, brushing dirt off the handle. My back aches. Everything aches.
I pick at a loose thread on the basket strap. Wind it around my finger. Unwind it. Wind it again.
"Are you okay?" Kestria asks.
"I'm not the one who got stabbed."
"That's not what I asked."
Tired, hungry, sore, homeless, walking into a place where thirty werewolves might want me dead. My moonbright is almost gone, and I have no idea if they'll even let me set up a workspace wherever we're going. And I need a workspace. Because the paste doesn't make itself and Kestria needs another application in six hours and I haven't—
"Ask me once I've slept and eaten actual food. And once you've stopped almost dying."
"I'm not almost dying."
"You got stabbed with a poisoned sword yesterday. Thatis firmly in the almost-dying category."
"It's more of a 'had a rough day' category."
"Had a rough—Kestria, your wound was turning gray."
"Only a little gray."
I stare at her. She grins at me, tired and pale and infuriating.
"I'm glad you're alive." I bump my shoulder against hers. "Even though you're terrible."
"I'm glad you're here," she says. "Even though you're loud."
"I'm not loud. I have a carrying voice. There's a difference."
"There really isn't."
"Are any of them going to know me? At the den."
"Some of them have seen you before. The ones you treated."
"As wolves. Not as a person walking into their home carrying a chicken."
"There's Rhen. You treated him years ago. He'll vouch for you."
"One person."
