(no subject)

[cog_nomen]

"Hmm." He speculated. "I'll have to run some tests." His tone was light and he shook his thoughts clear of work. It would come when it was ready, the final part of his design. He got up from his chair, and knelt carefully by her feet. He reached out, running his hands over the perfect, round shape of her abdomen as if considering. It was complete nonsense, of course, there was no way for him to tell the baby's sex before it was born. Like all parents, they were forced to guess and wait. Cade wasn't sure if he should hope for a boy or a girl, but he would welcome either.

Sliding his ear against an area just above her extended belly-button, he listened. There was a heartbeat - probably Jessa's, and the sounds of her breath. The baby had a healthy habit of kicking and bucking in the middle of the night, or just after Jessa had woken. The lost sleep had cost her a little in patience while she was still working, but now that she had the days free to nap and regain lost sleep, her good humor had returned. They had just weeks until the baby was born, and the mystery solved. He leaned back on his heels, and mimed considering. He stood up and paced around her in a circle, then at last came to a stop and nodded.

"Well?" She laughed, amused by his play.

"A girl." He said, matter-of-factly. He had no idea, but it didn't hurt to guess.

"Is that your expert opinion?" Her hands fell onto her stomach, absently running up and down over the bulge.

"No." Cade laughed. "It's my best guess."

"Your expert opinion." She corrected, teasingly.

"What do you think it will be?" He settled onto the cushioned chair next to her, and she leaned over to brace her currently considerable weight on his shoulder. He did not protest.

"A baby." She said. Of course, she was right.

---

Roan kept his nose to the ground, picking up traces of scent as he went. The small foreigner went ahead of him, picking up the obvious traces of panicked flight left in the alchemist's wake. The man's only advantage now was that he'd had a full night's head start, and had apparently run a good way of that. Forced to track him, the unlikely pair of human and Thusswolv went more slowly. Both were injured - the man more than the Wolv. Roan still felt his hip protest every sudden movement, and wondered how long it would be until the pulled muscles there finally healed. He suspected that it would be longer than necessary, due to all the travel he was forced into.

He was still uncertain about what to think of the Rojian stranger. He knew very little about the man, other than his profession. It was curious to him why the man would have risked himself in such a way, but he'd seen the decision forming in the man's black eyes to speak up and save the Thusswolv's battered pride at least a little. He still did not trust him - the man was, as Singer described him, a fox. Small and dark, he moved with certainty through the woods that edged the wild.

Following behind, the Wolv wasn't entirely certain that the man didn't have any sort of ulterior motive. It seemed unfair to distrust him based on his current actions - he had led them tirelessly since they'd set out, with only an occasional glance back toward Roan. The wolv followed at an easy pace, disguising his limp. So far, they had not exchanged words.

Shatura paused, and knelt to inspect some tracks more closely, shaking his head as if in internal debate. Roan considered asking him what he was thinking, and dismissed the idea. It would do best to observe this man more before he sought companionship. He circled, waiting, putting his nose into the chimera's tracks. He could tell by the way the alchemist's footprints followed and leaned that he was still being guided in his panic by the creature. He was surprised at the chimera's loyalty to the alchemist, all the tales he'd heard of alchemic masters agreeing on their cruel nature and harsh mastery of their slaves.

Nothing in the relationship between this alchemist and chimera suggested anything other than friendship. That made Roan puzzled - as did the alchemist keeping his promise at the leyline. With the source of his power right there, the man could have easily reduced Roan to ash, but had let him down and risked himself to repair his injury. All of the stories he'd heard indicated a distinct lack of compassion in alchemists - so this surviving alchemist seemed a living contradiction. Perhaps he wasn't such a bad person at all, alchemist or not. Roan hadn't witnessed him doing anything other than restoring his chimera. Heartless monster or not, the Wolv supposed he currently had very little say in the matter of the alchemist's death. He pushed his thoughts aside.

Seemingly coming to a conclusion, the witch-hunter got to his feet. His normally fluid movement suddenly became heavy, and he swayed dangerously on his feet before he collapsed entirely, balance gone in a moment of weakness.

"Hey," Roan managed before the man hit the dust. He moved closer, cautiously.

Shatura was conscious, gripping his injured arm. Roan could smell blood, and looking closer, saw it oozing out of the angry colored wounds on the man's arm. The witch-hunter had kept the injury as close as possible, and his dark skin had masked some of the indications of infection that were appearing, but Roan saw them now. Reaching out, he made to take hold of the man's arm and get a better look.

Shatura flinched away, quick as that, guarding his injury to himself. "It's nothing. The loss of blood made me dizzy."

"Do you take me for blind or stupid?" Roan carefully kept the growl out of his tone. There was no way he could wave the injury he had inflicted away as nothing - he was well aware that he had broken the Rojian's arm and tasted his blood. Untreated and uncovered, the injury would rapidly infect. Infection could very rapidly have dire consequences.

"Neither." Shatura answered truthfully. He sat up slowly, arm held close. "But I don't trust you, yet. I believe you feel the same about me, and rightly so. Hours ago, we were fighting."

"Fair." The wolv assessed. Settling in on his haunches, he shook his heavy mane back from his face. He could feel the nettles and burrs tangled in the thick fur there, irritating him. "But mistrust won't get your arm set or save it from infection. You're useless to me if you can't track, and when the alchemist forgets panic, I suspect his trail will all but disappear."

"You could track him without me." Shatura assessed.

"But I won't kill him." The wolv sighed, a surprisingly human gesture. "I've given my promise."

"Will you give that promise to me?" The Rojian's dark brows arched, he sounded almost amused. Surprised, Roan realized. The man's hair had come free of it's holder long ago, a limb snatching it away while his concentration had been on the trail. Roan realized that he was equally bur-entangled.

"We must both make a promise like that." Roan held out his hand, to seal the oath. He considered using his left hand, but a deal made that way would be unlucky. Shatura carefully lifted his right hand to accept the deal, supporting it at the elbow with is left.

"I'm sorry." Shatura said, as they shook hands. The wolv was very ginger with the Rojian's injured fingers, but in truth, the feeling had begun to fade from them alarmingly fast.

"Why?" Roan said, when they'd let go.

"You have to marry that woman." Shatura's voice turned from serious to amused in a heartbeat, and he laughed. Roan found his humor infectious.

"I'm sorry, too." He chuckled. It was like a weight lifted between them, a silent release of pressure. They weren't so different from each other after all. "But it's a great honor for my pack that I was chosen, and so a great honor for me."

"Is that the way you see it?" Relaxing, Shatura seemed to feel a little better. He was sitting, and the fingers of his left arm were cautiously exploring the wound as he looked down at it. Roan heard the tiny inhalation of breath as his fingers brushed over the break.

"I see it as a chore." Roan reached out again, holding his hands out to indicate he wanted to have a look. "This needs to be set."

"I can't do it with only one hand." The witch-hunter relinquished his arm into the Thusswolv's gentle grip, and the wolf leaned in to examine it, muzzle inches from the wound it had inflicted. Shatura's hand remained relaxed in his fingers, a sign the wolv didn't like in the least. He could feel how tense the man was with Roan's presence so close. It would be a shame for him to have to lose his arm.

"I'll help you." Roan promised. "But setting it won't solve all the problems."

"I'm not sure we have the time or option to coddle the infection. We can't afford to get held up," Shatura wished he'd had the foresight to bring his things when he'd staked out the alchemist's cottage. They were as good as lost to him now, left behind in the Merry Sow in a room he suspected he'd never seen again.

"I know nothing of medicines, I'm afraid." The wolv reached out, then stopped, and pointed at Shatura's belt. "I'll need that. And we'll use your cloak as a sling. I'll fetch some splints."

Leaving him there in full trust that he would remain when he returned, Roan dropped to all fours and trotted into the brush. He did not know how rapidly infection worked, but hoped that once the bleeding was stopped and the bone reset, Shatura's lightheadedness would vanish. They were headed north - the alchemist had, at least, fled toward civilization in his blind panic, and so they wouldn't be completely without option for treatment if the alchemist continued along his path. Civilization wouldn't be the best place for him to hide, however, and Roan suspected that once the man regained his senses, he'd turn for the Wild.

The Wolv wasn't certain he'd be willing to follow the Alchemist there. He'd heard that senses betrayed and the mind warped in the wilds, and that even creatures turned away from the unexplored places. He wasn't too sure he believed all the fairy stories, but it wasn't a good idea to go unknown into the wild, and he had never journeyed even this far from the capital Tura before.

His sharp eyes picked out two fairly straight limbs, though he broke one shorter than he would have liked, it would do. Roan glanced around quickly, but knew very little of medicinal plants. He hoped that binding the Rojian's arm up would be enough to get him someplace he could be treated. When he returned, he found Shatura where he'd left him, the man was dividing his cloak into strips.

"Bandages," He explained. "Though I can't say I won't miss the cloak."

He did look strange without the added bulk of the black fabric. It was a strange weave, one that Roan had no experience with. It was tough, and didn't take kindly to ripping. He himself appeared thinner than Roan would have guessed, but his tattered shirt stuck to him now, defining muscles that it had once hidden. The man left just enough of the cloak for a sling, the rest of it torn into long strips. The wolv deposited the sticks he'd gathered, and crouched.

"Ready?" The wolv held out his hands.

"No." Shatura chuckled, but he put his fingers into the wolv's furred fingers anyway. As the Wolv readied to pull, the man tensed. "Wait. Hand me my belt."

Roan recovered it from the ground at his side, and handed it over. Shatura folded it in half with his good hand, and with a wry look up at the wolv, stuck it between his teeth. The darkened leather was almost the same color as his skin, the wolv noticed. Without further hesitation, he positioned his hands. He took his eyes off of the witch-hunter's face, heard the sharp intake of breath as he put one hand over the break to guide it back into place, and then with his other hand above the dark wrist, pulled sharply.

Shatura made an agonized noise, muffled by belt leather, but the bone slipped back into place. Roan nodded, exploring gingerly with his fingers. Pulling the belt free from his mouth, the witch-hunter panted, but seemed relieved. Roan noticed deep teethmarks in the leather as he turned his materials into a makeshift sling for the man. He set the arm as best he knew how, and the Rojian made a correction or two. Bound up, it didn't look so bad.

"It'll stop the bleeding long enough." The witch-hunter said as he got back to his feet.

"Long enough for what?" Putting his nose to the earth, Roan snuffled out the trail, having a hard time picking up the alchemist with Shatura's blood all around.

"Long enough for us to see what happens next." By his sly tone of voice, Shatura was feeling much better.