It wasn’t perfect, various sessions would be needed to ensure a body could handle the extensive healing required to keep too many scars from forming. Yet weak as he’d become - as a mortal always had been - only so much magic could thrum beneath his skin at one time lest he risked it overtaking him completely. Stopped a heart instead of ceasing the ichor it worked so hard to pump from leaking free, but with this fluttering excess coursing within there had come advisory. No, instruction to stay away from the forge until everything had healed and step no longer faltered in a flare of discomfort. Making him effectively useless in another’s eyes and, in a way, his own as well.

What was he supposed to do? There was no desire to sit at home and simply wait for everything to heal, for bandaging to be unwound and allow skin to breathe freely once more. It was suffocating beneath the bind of cloth in the ways it hugged so closely, keeping poultices pressed firm in hopes of preventing infection from settling in. Such would be its own beast to fight and with the mixture of metals and fang that had reached his bloodstream, there was already risk of sickly introductions. For now, at least, no fever touched him. Nothing more than that promised pain seemed to twist where weaponry had carved its path.

Absentmindedly finger’s traced the worst of it. Trailing where the king’s blade split over the breadth of his chest and etched against ribs. Would he or the vanguard at his side recognize those who fought against them? Or did their minds threaten to blur as much as his own to the details of the scene? No matter what the case may be Fineás intended to take up a purpose in deliverance. Just as he had upon his first venture into those wolf invested lands. It may be against doctor’s orders though he would rather suffer the scolding of one over the lashing tongue or envenomed glares of another. A healer’s ‘wraith’ was the preferred punishment.

Casting a cursory glance over his shoulder, supplies lay gathered before scurrying off to the perceived privacy of his room. Ink and parchment lain upon the desk as for a time he only looked between them. Writing wasn’t something he was entirely comfortable with, practice was there and yet the words never seemed right when scrawled upon the page. Maybe just this once it would be worth it. One could only hope that the address given was read correctly from where it’d been jotted upon the margins of a rather crude map. The very one his mother had granted on his last venture into the land of wolves. If all else failed maybe the carrier would find recognition to a name.

Grumbling under his breath the point of that pen pressed against parchment,


While he did not directly ask her to meet him there, the idea was presented. It was up to her do what she would with such information. Until then he had other arrangements to make.

---

Arrival to Vufrien had been a far smoother journey this time around. No delays, no aimless wanderings now that direction was known; better yet, this was not a venture made alone. Perhaps it were by some twist of fate - or more likely a sister’s ever mounting concern over his well being - that Nazaria had insisted on coming along with him. Promises made not to interfere too much with whatever business he conducted but at leas this way she would be able to continue treatments as Fineás fled the reach of another. It was better this way.

The muirinn’s presence was one far preferred over that of a near stranger, besides, she held a blessing no other did for he would never purposefully evade her. Not even now as they stood at Temptation’s door, “Let me know if anything weird comes up okay?” Hopefully nothing would and yet with her at least somewhat watching the door it granted a faint sense of ease, even if her eyes continuously drifted over various baked goods. “Oh, and get whatever you want,” maybe this time their mother wouldn't notice a few missing coins, “I shouldn’t be long.” With a chime at the door his sister was left to her own devices.

Jewels had already exchanged hands moments ago, leaving him to comfortably settle into the plush seating of the pastry shop without a clue on if another would even show. All he could really do was wait. Shift in the discomfort felt, the itching of mending flesh that could not be rubbed too harshly. A majority of the bindings lay cloaked by his usual adornments, only those littering his countenance truly visible without a more extensive search. Though radiating just beyond the perfumes of floral wood lingered that of herbs and an undeniably spark of ozone foretelling the ways magic danced in excess beneath his skin.

Maybe she wouldn’t notice or, if she did, the anxiousness that seemed to grip her would convince a tongue to still. Not to pry or bring it up. Only her arrival would give way to the answers of unasked questions. This temporary solitude at least gave one benefit, a moment to quiet his own racing thoughts and soothe the flares which managed to rise beneath medication. Gloved digits unconsciously settling against a bound leg, one no longer bearing the bullet from his own gun, as if touch alone may quiet all which brought a limb to quiver and a jaw to clench. If this pain didn’t vanish, if Julie didn’t show within the hour, at least Naza still lingered nearby. Entranced by the bountiful selection of sweets