*Blake*
I know she must have bathed recently because she smells of lavender and carries none of the sickly sweet odor of illness. Her breast rubs innocently against my arm, but I have recovered enough that my body reacts with a twitch. I have memories of her wiping a damp cloth over me. The fever had plunged me into hell, and she had lifted me into heaven.
Eventually, she lays me back down and sets the glass aside. “Your sheets are damp, from the fever breaking. I'm going to change them, but first I will give you a quick wash."
“I can manage. Just help me sit up.” Words I have never expected to hear myself utter, to turn down an opportunity to have a she-wolf bathe me? But she isn't just a she-wolf. She is the mother of my child. She has also quite possibly saved my life. After my time a
