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Beside him, Fenna knelt with her satchel open, pulling out a tiny gourd filled with warm liquid salve they'd mixed this morning. It smelled faintly of citrus and smoke.
"Hold still," she said.
Zephyr extended his arm without argument. The claw mark along his bicep was shallow but smarted now that the battle had passed. Fenna dabbed the salve with a folded moss wrap, her fingers deft but gentle. Warmth liquid soaked through his skin, a quiet pulse that numbed the ache.
"Thanks," he muttered.
"You took a hit for the chick." Fenna's voice was soft, more statement than praise. "She noticed."
As if on cue, Emberling chirped from Fenna's shoulder sling. Her voice was still timid, but there was a change—brighter, more melodic. She blinked at Star, who stood a few paces away, tail curled protectively around his haunches. His scales still glowed faintly from the Ember Trail burst.
