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Brindle launched into a rapid explanation, ears and whiskers sweeping as he spoke. Galen caught two or three words, but for the most part, the gnole was talking far too fast for his meager skills to keep up.

The doctor turned to look at Piper warily, and spoke a few curt words. Brindle said, almost apologetically, “Ours does not think that a human can tell ours much of a healing.”

“No,” said Piper, one corner of his mouth lifting with weary humor. “No, but a human can tell ours what a human did to a gnole, so that ours knows what to undo.”

The white-blazed gnole barked a laugh at Brindle’s translation, and ours’ stance seemed to soften. They nodded curtly to Piper and stumped away down a tunnel. Bays opened off it, marked off with woven blankets. The humans followed, ducking their heads. Shane was practically bent double, trying to avoid crushing Earstripe to his chest.

The gnole doctor swept a blanket aside and pointed. The bay was large, the center a round nest of bedding. A long side table gleamed with instruments, some of them similar to the ones that Galen had seen in Piper’s bag, some of them baffling in purpose and design. One of the gnoles with the candles set it down reverently on the side table.

The ceiling here was even lower and Shane gave up even trying to stand. He knelt, and shuffled forward on his knees to lay Earstripe into the nest. He bowed his head to the gnole doctor, and then he and Marcus retreated into the hallway.

Galen stayed, while ours moved around the patient, rearranging his limbs, checking the insides of his ears, and scowling.

“Brindle, can you translate what I’ve done?”

“Complicated words,” said Brindle. “A gnole can try.” He looked over at the white-blazed gnole and said something. Ours nodded again and gestured to Piper to join ours beside the patient.

Gnole and human bent over Earstripe together, Piper explaining what he had done, and Brindle quietly murmuring a translation. What struck Galen as he watched was how similar the two looked. The intensity of their gazes, the deft, careful movements as they unwrapped the dressings—these were two of a kind, no matter that one was three feet tall and the other flat-faced and naked-limbed.

Another wave of that odd, tender emotion rolled through him as he watched Piper. This one was stronger than the first, laced with admiration. He is a good man, thought Galen, almost wonderingly. A good man who is good at what he does. He wants nothing more than to help people, and when it began to hurt him too badly, he found another way to help.

Ours sniffed the dressing and gave Piper another sharp look. “Honey,” said Piper. “I didn’t know what else to use. It does help sometimes in humans, but I don’t know about in gnoles.” The gnole doctor cocked ours head, listening to Brindle’s translation, then let out another sharp laugh and cuffed Piper’s arm in clear amusement. Ours pointed to a clay jar on the table and Brindle fetched it and opened the jar, revealing dark amber honey. Piper laughed too, the tired lines of his face briefly falling into kinder ones, and Galen felt his heart clench in a way that was close to pain.

He leaned against the wooden pillar that marked the doorway, feeling his own weariness catching up with him. Perhaps I’m just getting maudlin because I’m tired.

The white-blazed gnole called out the door and two young gnoles slipped by Galen, listened politely, and then left again, returning with damp cloths for Earstripe’s ears. One peeled the patient’s lips back and the other rubbed some kind of oil onto the gnole’s gums. Probably better than trying to shove something down his throat and getting bit. Galen lost track of the conversation for a moment, his eyes swimming. When he lifted his head, the two young gnoles had moved aside and the white-blazed gnole was sitting on a stool. Definitely tired.

Piper seemed to have gained new energy, talking animatedly with the doctor. He stretched out his own leg and traced a line with his fingers, marking the path of the femoral artery. Brindle was hard-pressed to keep up with the translation, but apparently ours understood anyway because ours slapped their knees and made Brindle stretch out his leg, tracing a different path with one clawed hand. Piper put a hand to his heart in clear relief. “I was terrified the entire time,” he admitted, “that the bolt was close to the artery. I wish I’d known.”

“Now our gnole knows,” translated Brindle. “If our gnole ever works on a human, maybe our gnole won’t accidentally bleed them dry.”

“Brindle,” said Piper, “would it be rude to ask if ours would be willing to teach me a little more about how gnole anatomy works? Not right this minute, of course, but in the near future? I would be happy to return the favor as much as I can. It might help us both to save lives someday.”

Brindle considered this. “A gnole can ask,” he said slowly. “Ah…ours is…very high-caste. Bone-doctor understands?”

Piper looked at Galen and Galen felt foolishly pleased that he could help. “I believe he’s trying to say that ours is an extremely senior doctor, and you would need to treat ours as such.”

Piper chuckled. “I am not very senior,” he told Brindle. “I promise that I will give ours all the respect I would give one who is far wiser than I. And ours may set the time and place of ours choosing.” He paused, then added, “If ours would like to come to my workplace and view human bodies, it’s a large part of what I do.”

The gnole doctor listened to Piper’s relayed request with interest. At one point, ours whiskers flicked sharply, though Galen could not tell if it was with dismay or simple surprise. Is it the bodies? Grave-gnoles handle corpses and they are the lowest caste of gnole society. Is ours alarmed by Piper doing grave-gnole work?

When Brindle had finished, the gnole doctor bent over Earstripe, examining his wound again, then barked a few words over ours shoulder. Galen could see Brindle’s astonishment at whatever ours had said, and braced himself in case it was a sharp rejection.

“Ours has a name,” said Brindle. “Humans would say…Skull-of-Ice, yes? Ours allows bone-doctor to use the human version.” He swallowed. “Our gnole says that ours will come to bone-doctor’s burrow and look at human dead. Ours says that lives will be saved between you.” The gnole shot Galen a pleading look. “Our gnole honors bone-doctor with this, and with our name. Tomato-man, can you explain for a human? Better than this gnole can?”

“You’ve explained very well, I think,” said Piper. He looked over at Galen. “Am I missing anything?”

“I don’t think you’re missing anything,” said Galen. “But I think this may be…ah…somewhat unprecedented. It might be like Beartongue visiting a temple of a different god in another nation. Ours is doing you a favor, but it’s a favor that extends to any other humans ours might have to treat, if that makes sense?”

Piper nodded and turned back to Brindle. “Please convey all my gratitude to Skull-of-Ice. Ours is very generous to a human who cannot smell.”

Brindle repeated this. Skull-of-Ice cackled, reached out, and tapped a claw against Piper’s nose. Galen felt a swell of pride at how well the doctor had handled things. It was a great compliment, he was certain, and Piper had responded in exactly the right way.

Skull-of-Ice made shooing motions toward the humans and to Brindle and gestured to the assistants who were waiting patiently with cloths and poultices. Piper bowed to the gnoles and retreated into the hallway where the other two paladins waited.

“Is everything all right?” asked Shane.

Piper nodded, exhausted but clearly satisfied. “He’s in good hands,” he said. “Far better than mine.”