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Lovely... cosy... I like these words.He added them to the list of the many, many others she’d taught him in their short time together. As well as the few he associated with her.

He watched a cloud float past, wondering why he wasn’t ready to drift off yet. Then, he realised the problem and grabbed her plump backside so he could slide her up until her head was cushioned on his biceps. He wrapped his hand around her knee to keep her to him, his body surrounding her from all sides.

With his other arm, both legs, and tail straight and spread out from his centre, Ingram closed his sight.Perfect.

Emerie held the sides of her thigh to brace it, while mentally preparing to wince. She never did, even when the Duskwalker carefully dabbed at her wounds with a hot, damp cloth.

There was a gaping hole in her pants, purposefully made so she could tend to her wound freely without having to take them off during their travels. Emerie wasnotwilling to forgo pants with this guy around.

With her straightened leg on top of his thigh, he was being very cautious of his claws. His purple tongue even slipped out the side of his beak in deep concentration.

She had to bite her lips shut to stop herself from laughing.

I still can’t believe I’m letting him do this,she thought, just as Ingram dunked the cloth back into the metal cup filled with boiled water.

He’d pestered her about it. Pushing and pleading to let him take care of her wound ever since the moment it happened. She’d said no the first few days, especially since cleaning it had caused droplets of blood to well. Now that it’d been quite a few days and the four punctures were well and truly scabbed over and mending, she didn’t see the point in denying him.

He wanted to make up for them, to aid her in any way possible.

Other than the pain each step gave her, and the way the fucking thing itched, the worst part about this was caring for it.

It’d taken her a long time to get used to fire after her incident when she was nineteen.

She wasn’t comfortable, less in fear of it and more at the triggering of the memories and anxiety it brought. However, fire was essential to life for a human, so she was forced to suck it up and make it whenever it was required. For instance, for boiling purposes so she didn’t use unsanitary water on her injuries and cause infections – or give herself parasites.

Opening a jar for him, Emerie gave Ingram her medicinal salve.

She remembered the first time he’d tried digging into the yellowy ointment and took out far too much. Now, he used the back of his claw to obtain only a small amount. He wiped it next to the wound and then lightly used the back of his knuckle to apply it to the four scabs.

Once he was done, he handed back the jar so she could put it away.

“Alright, Doc. What do I owe you?” His head jerked to the side, making the sound of dry bones rattling. “All I’ve got on me is a berry and some string. Will that be enough?”

His head tilted the other way, orbs morphing to a dark yellow. “I don’t want anything for helping you, Emerie. I want to make up for hurting you.”

Her lips flattened as she tried to stifle her grin.

“It’s a joke. You know... like ha ha?”

“You are not very funny, Emerie,” he stated bluntly.

“I’m just trying to make you laugh again,” she answered, before pouting her bottom lip forward.

Ever since the day on the hill, she had made it her mission to get this Duskwalker to laugh again. It wasn’t going well. He was absolutely right in the fact that Emerie wasn’t very funny, and even if she was, most of the time her jokes didn’t register in that brain of his.

Ingram reached out and cupped the left side of her face. She was growing used to it, since he’d been doing it more frequently. She no longer flinched. He rubbed his thumb against her protruding bottom lip, dragging it down further, then letting it flick back into place.

“I like it when you do this.”

And I like it when you do that,her thoughts answered, resisting the urge to lean into his massive, rough palm.

She thought Ingram may have been the first person to ever hold or touch the scarred side of her face. He only deepened the tingling sensation within her heart when he pushed his hand further back, threading his fingers into her hair so he could brush her cheek, and the webbed texture of it, with his thumb.

When that tingling sensation began to gnaw like a festering wound, she reached up with both hands to grab his wrist and pull his hand away from her.

Something is wrong with me.

There had to be.