Blood.
It was everywhere—soaking Elaria’s hands, running in thick rivers down Draven’s side, dripping to the broken stone beneath them. The aroma of it overpowered the herbal flavor that had always served as her fulcrum, filling her lungs with iron and fire. Elaria's healer's hands shook for the first time in her life, but it was out of fear rather than inexperience.
She pressed closer to the wound and muttered, "No, no, no…" her voice cracking. Once blazing with rage and devotion, Draven's golden eyes flickered feebly, fighting to remain open. Each of his shallow gasps of breath dragged at her soul.
Around them, the big hall was in disarray, with wolves dragging bodies away, groaning, and hobbling, and the storm rattling the remains of the broken doors, yet everything was blurry. El
