Page 68 of Moonless

I wind the clean linen around her, passing it into her good hand where I need her to hold it. She catches each turn and gives it back. Once her fingers brush my blunt fingertips, and she leaves them there until I take the strip. I don’t hurry.

I draw the next turn looser so she can lift the arm without the pad shifting. “Lift it a little.”

She does, watching me instead of the dressing.

“Better?” I keep the linen where it is.

“Yes.”

I tie the linen behind her shoulder and tuck the ends flat. She moves her arm again before I let it go.

“That’s better. Thank you.”

Her sleeve hangs against my wrist. I hold it open while she slides her hand through, then take my hands away.

She settles on her right side while I take the water out. When I come back, her foot wraps are off beside the pallet, and the little knife’s in its case by her hand, clear of the cloak she’s pulled over herself.

I lie down on my own bedding across the hearth. She shifts her head against the folded fur and closes her eyes.

“Goodnight, Kestria.”

“Goodnight, Rauk.”

Chapter 19

The arrow rolls across the stone, and I catch it before it reaches the fire.

It’s bent. I knew that when I started, but I thought taking the bark off would help. Now it’s a smoother bent stick with one end thinner than the other.

I turn it around and shave the thick end with Rauk’s knife.

He hasn’t moved on his bedding. I was up first, which means I’ve already made breakfast, eaten mine, and found something else to be bad at. His bowl waits beside the hearth, close enough to stay warm.

The fresh bandage holds when I lean over. He tucked the knot where it wouldn’t rub, and my shoulder’s easier this morning. My right fingers still hurt when I press the shaft against the stone.

I set it beside one of his arrows.

His is straight. He’s had time to practice.

“That one won’t fly.” Rauk’s sitting up across the hearth, dark hair flattened along one side. His rounded ear’s already turned toward my pile of shavings.

“It hasn’t tried yet.”

“Neither end knows where you’re sending it.”

I lay the knife down and point to his breakfast.

“Eat that before you start insulting my arrows.”

He pushes the fur off his legs and gets up, in a cloth tied round his hips and nothing else.

He’s always up before me, so I’ve never seen this.

He stretches with both arms over his head and yawns, fangs and all, and there’s a lot of chest. His stomach’s all muscle, and the pale fur comes down both sides and over his hipbones, so that’s where it goes. There’s a trail of dark fur from his navel, and that goes under the cloth too.

Oh.

Okay, yup. That’s a bulge. A very large—he’s not even hard.