With the careful focus he usually saved for herbs and bandages, he cradled her injured hand in both of his. His grip was light, almost cautious, fingers warm and steady against her overheated skin. Up close, he could see the edges of the cut were darker than they should be, like the hurt went deeper than the surface.
He blew on it, a small, cool breath over the blood.
It was a useless little habit, one that didn't actually heal anything. But it made it sting less when he did it to himself, so he did it now, too.
Kaya's fingers twitched, just once.
"Sorry," he said immediately. "Did that…?"
"It's fine," she cut in, softer than usual. "I've had worse."
"I know," he answered, and there was something quiet and heavy in the way he said it.
He looked around, spotted a relatively clean scrap of cloth near their things, and reached for it. When he came back, he held it up a bit, waiting.
"Can I wrap it?" he asked. "Just until you can rest properly. It'll keep the dirt out."
