Shadows and Light

trust this Clan’s healer with my hands?” Aiden asked. “I could end up crippled from a few scratches.” He turned, stumbled on the first step. Catching his balance, he started walking toward the Clan house in the distance.
    Lyrra stared at him, not sure what to do with him or for him. His frustration with the rest of the Fae had been turning bitter for a while now, but she didn’t know what would happen to either of them if he continued down that road. She wouldn’t leave him. She knew that much. Not just because, as a woman, she loved the man, but also because, as the Muse, she believed in what he was trying to do as the Bard.
    “Can you get the horses?” Falco asked quietly. When she nodded, he ran to catch up to Aiden.
    As Lyrra untied her mare’s reins from the packhorse’s lead rope, she saw the two men stop. Their voices were too low to hear the words, but it was obvious they were arguing about something. Gathering the reins and lead rope, she hurried to catch up to them.
    “Don’t be a fool, Aiden,” Falco said heatedly. “Do you think they’ll care if you harm yourself to spite them?”
    Harm himself? Lyrra’s heart leaped in her chest.
    “I’ll ask no favors,” Aiden snarled. “Not from them.”
    “Then don’t. But you can get back to the Clan house faster and use what you need to clean those wounds if you ride the mare instead of walking.”
    Aiden winced as his hands began to ball into fists. His shoulders sagged. Then he smiled ruefully. “If I can lose an argument to the Lord of the Hawks, I suppose I’m really not fit enough for a long walk.”
    “There’s nothing wrong with that sharp tongue of yours,” Falco muttered before adding, “Then be sensible and get on the horse.”
    Lyrra mounted the mare, wincing when she heard Aiden’s grunt of pain as he mounted behind her. After accepting the packhorse’s lead rope from Falco, she urged the mare into an easy canter.
    A moment later, a shadow passed over them. She glanced up, saw the hawk flying just ahead of them.
    Falco, keeping watch.
    When they reached the grounds of the Clan house, Aiden pointed to a fountain. “Over there.”
    She slowed the mare to a walk, guiding the animals to the fountain.
    Aiden dismounted. He pulled off his shirt and dropped it in the fountain. He sat on the fountain’s edge, pulled the shirt out of the water, and used it to wash the bloody scrapes on his side.
    Falco landed near the fountain, gave Lyrra a worried look.
    Dismounting, Lyrra approached Aiden. He ignored her and continued to use the shirt to wash his right side. Then he dunked his hands in the fountain, gritting his teeth as he scrubbed as much dirt as he could out of the cuts and scrapes.

    Lyrra turned back to the mare, trying not to let her exasperation show. Stubborn, foolish ... man. Did he really think a quick wash in a fountain was going to be sufficient?
    Fine, Lyrra thought irritably as she opened one of her saddlebags and took out a linen shift. That’s just fine. If he wants to pretend we ‘re in the middle of nowhere in the human world instead of at a Clan house and we need to make do with whatever we’ve got, that’s just fine. She drew the small knife out of its sheath in her boot and cut the linen shift into bandages.
    Aiden stood up, shivering and definitely unsteady on his feet. He dropped the ruined shirt beside the fountain.
    “Are you done?” Lyrra asked tartly. She bit her tongue. Now you‘re sounding like one of those wives who starts all the trouble in certain stories.
    Aiden just nodded.
    She saw nothing but weariness in his face, as if all the emotional fire in him had been quenched. She wrapped his hands, then made a pad to cover the worst of the scrapes on his side, securing it with more strips of linen that she tied around him. When she was done, she studied her makeshift bandages and suppressed a sigh. They would serve until she could find something better.
    “You need a shirt,” she said, turning toward the horses. Then she froze for a moment. Almost all his clothing was in his saddlebags. Gone now. Well, there was still the fine garb he wore for special occasions. That was on the packhorse. At least he still had that much—and his instruments. Those would have been a cruder loss than the clothing. Clothes could be replaced, and the only other thing in the saddlebags ...
    It hit her like a blow. She absorbed the emotional punch, then pushed it aside.
    She reached for the bag that held his