Roshan burst through Elder Mira's doorway in his leopard form, Faelyn's unconscious body draped across his back.
The elderly healer looked up from the herbs she was grinding, and her expression immediately hardened.
"Lay her down. Now."
He shifted to human form mid-step, catching Faelyn before she could fall, cradling her against his chest as he moved to the sleeping platform Mira indicated.
"What happened?" Mira's voice was cold. Controlled. The kind of calm that came before a storm.
"She's hurt. She needs healing. Please, Elder—"
"I can SEE she's hurt, Roshan." Mira was already moving, her ancient hands surprisingly swift as she began examining Faelyn's wounds. Scrapes. Deep cuts. Bruising that was already darkening to purple and black. Blood, so much blood, soaking through torn fabric.
Mira's fingers stilled on a particularly deep gash along Faelyn's arm.
Then she looked up at Roshan, and her eyes were furious.
"Where did you take her?"
It wasn't a question.
