Maren's talking about scouts when Bren appears.
The one whose arm she fixed yesterday.
"She told me my wrap was wrong."
"Itwaswrong."
"She told me in front of the pack." He rubs the back of his neck. "Said whoever wrapped it must've been drunk, blind, or actively trying to kill me, and that I should consider all three a possibility because anything was better than assuming they knew what they were doing."
"Hella wrapped it."
"AndnowHella won't talk to me."
"Was the wrap dangerous?"
He stares at the ground. "My fingers were going purple."
"So she was right."
"She was right and loud about it." He shifts. Meets my eye. "I'm not angry at her. She fixed my arm. But Hella's been wrapping wounds here for six years and now she's humiliated. There's a way to tell someone they're wrong that doesn't—"
"I know." I exhale. "I'll talk to Hella."
"And the human?"
"Her name is Melori."
He blinks. Weight shifts. My skin prickles.
Why did I say that?
"Could you maybe tell Melori that being right doesn't mean being right at people?"
My mouth pulls at the corner. I would very much like to see him try.
No.
"I'll handle it."
"Thank you."
He goes. Maren hasn't moved.
"Don't."
"I wasn't going to."
"You were thinking about it."
"I was thinking about anything." He folds his arms. "Butsince you brought her up—"
"I didn't bring her up."
"—Dara's not complaining about the supply bench."
"No."
"Should be. It's her area."
