I spent the majority of the day dozing. With the crythal visibly guarding the tree, I somehow doubted anyone was going to come after me. The humidity made sweat cover my skin and the sun seared my eyes, but I'd take some sunburns over walking on my leg.

   The day passed. Around nightfall, I awoke as the crythal below growled. Rubbing my eyes, I looked down. The beast had risen to a crouch and his tail flicked back and forth warningly. Sapphire eyes focused in the direction Tate had gone. I gripped my staff tightly, waiting. 

   Nothing happened. Tate had said the trip should only take a day, but he hadn't come back yet. The crythal looked up at me, the horizon, and back repeatedly. I squinted. "Are you saying you want to go there?"

   If felines were capable of deadpan looks, I received the most obvious one in history.

   "Well, if you're going to be that way about it, then go ahead!" I snickered slightly. The moment I finished talking, the crythal leaped out of sight. I blanched. "Am I really that bad of company?!" I yelled after it, irked.

   I had no idea what had gotten its attention, but I was wary. I held the staff in both hands and watched that area critically. A few minutes later, there were clinks as the crythal returned. A branch was hanging delicately from its jaws and a blurry shape hobbled after it. My eyes widened and I vaulted off of branch.

  Too late, I remembered my leg. In an attempt in minimize the damage, I landed on my good leg. The jar of the impact shot to my pelvis, but I was okay. I limped toward the pair. The crythal dropped the branch at my foot. It was a long, straight branch with no offshoots. In other words, it was exactly what I needed. 

   Tate was in pieces. His wing was broken at an angle, explaining why he was walking on the ground. Some blood dripped from one talon and his eye was swollen. "Oh, crap. Can you shift?"

   Tate nodded and jerked his head at my water bottle. I frowned, confused, but the crythal beat me to it. He picked it up and held it over Tate's head. I stared as he bit into the bottle and doused Tate. The former started to shift and I felt green again. The moment his mouth formed, Tate swore angrily.

   He was fully back to human, but his arm was still broken in the forearm. Tate held it tightly, his face screwed up. "Damn it. This thing hurts."

   I'd seen injuries before, that was one looked awful. "What happened? And why did you need my water?"

   "Water reduces the friction of the skin when shifting," gritted Tate. "It makes it faster and easier. I was ambushed by hunters at the grove. They caught me in a net and one was obviously a shifter, because he snapped my wing like it was a stick."

   "Hunters? Were you followed?"

   Tate shook his head. "No. I made sure. They backed off after my wing broke, for some reason. But no one was following me."

   "You lugged this branch for fifteen miles?" My mouth went dry. "Oh, god, I'm so sorry. Why didn't you make noise? This guy would have heard you--"

   "I did," said Tate weakly. "He must have been asleep."

   The crythal dipped his head. "Not your fault," muttered Tate. "But I can't shift until this bone sets. I already made it worse."

   "Well, I only need a few days before I can get us out of here." I picked up the branch. "This one is perfect. Thank you, Tate."

   He must have sensed the silent treaty in my voice, because his expression softened. "You're welcome. Do mages have healing capabilities?"

   "No. Sorry."

   "Worth a shot," he groaned. He made his way to the tree, his face grim. "I'm going to need help setting this thing." I grimaced as he sat down hard. "How?"

   "If I can't set it myself, you'll have to." Tate reached for the broken bone. His face was flushed with pain. I headed his way, nauseous. He set his arm against the ground, the broken bit sticking up at an odd angle. "Three, two, one." He breathed, closed his eyes, and used his other hand to try and set his arm.

   His knuckles whitened. It was already taking too long. I couldn't stand it. I hefted the staff and held it above his palm, very lightly setting it down. His eyebrows creased. Focusing, I was able to bring some scarlet droplets to life. They dripped down the staff, gathering until it was a whole liquid, and slid down his arm. Tate jerked. I solidified the crimson, and with a hiss of effort, forced the magic to straighten.

   There was a sickening snap. The moment his arm was straight, I released the magic and stumbled back, accidentally stepping onto my bad leg. Pain shot up my hips and I fell onto my ass with a groan. Tate held his arm to his chest, panting. Both of us sat there, in pain and wheezing.

   "N-Not even a thanks?" I groaned.

   Tate mumbled in response. The crythal walked past, shaking his head. He clearly was saying something because Tate looked at him, eyes narrowing.

   "What'd he say?"

   "He called us wimps."