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His hands fly down to cup his genitals, hiding them from me, but the movement pulls at his ribs, and he immediately winces.

Growling softly, I slide one arm beneath his knees and another behind his back, causing his eyes to grow wide. As soon as we step toward the spring, though, my human begins to fight twice as hard. “No! Fuck no, put me down!”

I do, directly into the water.

Whatever shriek that leaves his mouth startles several cave bats in the tunnels beyond.

“Hot!” he howls, splashing frantically. “Jesus Christ, it burns.”

The water barely reaches his shoulders, and I watch as he scrambles toward the rocky edge before slowing to a halt. He freezes for several seconds, testing the temperature, and when his gaze eventually cuts to mine, his arms fly into the air in exasperation.

“You can't just throw people into random water!”

Why not? I blink at him slowly, tilting my head. The spring is warm. I have soaked in it for many winters. The minerals and clean stone ease aching muscles and draw out bacteria. It is, objectively, a very good spring.

Yet, my human continues to make a fuss as though I have committed some great offense.

With an annoyed huff, I crouch down and reach toward him once more, but he bares his teeth. “Stay back.”

That gesture highly amuses me. “You bite?”

“I will if you touch me again.”

An odd, almost… warmth that has nothing to do with the spring envelops my chest as I lean an elbow on my knee. “Flat human teeth. Not good for weapon.”

“Wanna bet?” He glares at me in challenge, and though I'm sure the look is meant to intimidate, I find it quite humorous.

But I keep my hands to myself and gesture to his injured leg. “That wound needs cleaned. It is… very bad.”

His face twists. I do not know what expression it is—humans make many of them—but he finally slumps into the water with a miserable sound. “I can do it myself. Just stay over there.”

He still fears me.

That realization causes an unfamiliar ache to bloom inside my chest.

I have tried very hard not to frighten him. I only reset his bones because they were loose, and I only carried him through the tunnels due to his inability to walk. Even my attempt at feeding him was to prevent starvation, and yet everything I do seems to make him upset.

I do not understand.

Conceding for the moment, I simply nod and observe as he removes the poultice from around his thigh. It smells horrid, even from beneath the water. I had packed it with herbs and moss to stop the bleeding, but his escape through the tunnels rendered much of my work obsolete. It will need to be redressed again.

“Pretty sure this needs stitches,” he mutters, hissing as his fingers run over the angry flesh. “Bullet's probably still inside me somewhere. I should see a doctor.”

That word is somewhat familiar. Humans used to use it often, usually when another was injured or ill. I suspect it is some form of a healer. “You cannot.”

He glances up at me warily. “And why the hell not?”

“I ate him.”

My human startles, jolting slightly as he gapes at me. “You… you ate the doctor?”

Frowning, I scour my memory momentarily, remembering the old man who smelled of tobacco and always carried a black medicine bag. “Yes.”

His expression changes several times in rapid succession—shock, horror, confusion. “... When?”

“Many winters ago.”

“How many is many?”