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I know how to cook a fish. I use my left hand to lift the cooked one onto a plate. The larger one needs both hands, so I wait while she eases the cloth off my arm.

The holes have stopped bleeding. She rinses them with the cloth pinched in her fingertips, since her palm’s still red where the line cut it. That palm wants looking at too. I hold still while she sets a fresh pad over the bite.

“There. Hold that.”

I hold it with my left fingertips, keeping the claws lifted.

“Your leg too.”

“Eat first.”

“Both. I can chew while I look at it.”

She would, too. I put the remaining fish over the coals, then loosen my trousers enough to reach the thigh binding. She passes me the wet cloth. I can manage that wrap myself, and she holds the clean strip ready.

When the last knot’s tied, she gives me a piece of fish. “Eat.”

It’s hot enough that I have to breathe around it. She pulls a little cooked flesh off her own fish, watching until I take another mouthful. I’ve done that to her often enough.

I give her the crisp skin from mine.

“You can have some, you know.”

“I know.”

She eats it while I turn the spits. Then she takes leaves from the bunch, tears them small, and passes them to me for the fish still cooking.

She barely uses any. They’ll keep.

We finish the two smaller fish while the others cook. Her feet stay near the coals, and she rests her back against the folded fur I’ve put behind her. When she reaches toward the food again, the loose cuff slips down over her fingers.

I catch it and turn it back for her. She kisses the two blunt fingertips, and I leave my hand in hers.

After breakfast, I bring the clean cloth to her. She’s bare to the waist for this, and I look at her breasts as long as I like. My cock stirs.

Not this morning. Probably.

She sits still while I change the dressing on her left shoulder and clean the bite on the right. That one’s mine. She doesn’t flinch when the cloth touches it, and I nearly do. Both sides pull when she lifts her arms, so I hold the shirt clear while she works them into the sleeves herself.

“Your turn.” She points at the dried blood in the fur down the side of my neck.

I bend so she can reach the cut and her teeth marks. I hope they scar. She cleans them gently, then puts her lips beside them, and my chest rumbles under her mouth.

I keep my hand against her waist until she leans back.

The cooked fish cool on the preparation stone while we finish dressing. I take a shirt from my own pile, easing the right sleeve over the fresh wrap.

Kestria ties her two scraps on under my shirt, and I watch her do it until the belt goes on over everything. Her brother’s going to see her walk in wearing my shirt. Take a good look, Keer.

She wipes her knife and puts it back in its case at her hip. That’s my blood she’s wiping off, and she doesn’t make anything of it.

Her foot wraps are dry. I sit to help with the knots so she won’t have to bend, and she braces her good hand on my shoulder while I tie them.

“Not too tight.”

I loosen the first one a little. It wasn’t tight.

She gets her bow from beside the pallet. The arrows, line, and stake are still tied to it, and she checks the cord with her thumb.