We're under a canopy of leaves while the day grows older by the minute, the sunlight sprinkling between the falling leaves in a brush of color to lighten the earth in warmth. Creatures unfurrow from beneath the golden rays, lizards and bugs alike enjoying their time basking in the warmth as fall gets chillier in preparation for the coming cold. And I'm sitting here in an argument with a Werecat. I need a vacation from my life... preferably spanning forever.

“I’m not dying. Just need a break.” I say, staring at Zephora.

Black barks a laugh. He holds up his hands in supplication as two furious glares are switched from each other to him.

“Sorry, sorry. You two are like siblings.” He says with his characteristic grin.

Zephora sniffs and I’m surprised to see one side of her cheek twitch. “Fancy coming from you, brother.” She says.

I laugh, then quickly sober as that causes a white hot prick of pain. “Didn’t realize you two were related.” Even though, the straight black hair on both of them and the pale features has some passing resemblance. But Black's constant grin on an inviting face versus the puckered scowl on his sister makes that resemblance harder to see.

“It’s a common misconception. We are nothing alike.” Zephora says decisively.

“I see it now.” I say. Black can’t help an incredulous stare. Zephora just looks skeptical. I try to hold in a grin. I point at Zephora, “Happy,” then I point to Black, “Grumpy.”

Sarcasm fits you well, my young pupil.

To my surprise, Zephora is the one who breaks into a laugh. “He has us pegged, brother.” She grins at me with flashing silver eyes that is somehow scarier than her scowl. “That still doesn’t get you off the hook.”

I groan into my hands. “Please? I cannot take it, not right now.”

“Don’t you trust us?” Black asks with a mischievous grin as he squats beside me.

I try to shove him, but he doesn’t topple like he should.

“This is not only going to help you with the pain I can see through that stoic mask of yours, but also with the infection. It will support your immune system to fight it.” I eye Zephora dubiously. Most times, those who have given me drugs just preferred to keep me pliable. Not actually help in some way or another. But I smell sincerity. Again.

It’d be easier to deal with if they actually acted like what I expect from beings on this planet. I know how to deal with those who are rotten to the core. I know how to kill, how to silence, and how to maim.

What I don’t know how to do is actually handle those who are—nice. Especially when they aren't human. Humans are kinda... different and easier to peg. They aren't as stubborn and, with their brief lives, are more likely to be passionate and take the days with appreciation. I sometimes wish I was born human. Oh, wait! I was. But my wolf half kinda took presidence when I was raised among assassins.

She rolls her eyes, then takes a sip of the foul smelling liquid. She huffs a breath my direction so I can tell she actually drank it.

It smells like something that came from the hind end of a donkey.

“There. See? A few sips will not make you pass out.” She narrows her silver eyes. “Do I need to knock you out and shove it down your throat?” Her voice hisses at the end as her pupils dilate into snake-like slits: I take that very seriously.

“No ma’am. I’ll take some.” I blurt. She’s scary. What is it with healers? I need to stop getting hurt.

Good luck with that. A smug voice in my subconscious laughs.

Shut it.

Black coughs from beside me. I look at him skeptically through narrowed eyes.

He just keeps coughing and waves me off.

I grab the cup and take a sip while cradling my chest with my other hand.

It almost comes right back out. “That stuff is worse than rotten meat buried for a week by a dog.” I grimace as it slithers down my throat, somehow leaving an oily residue in my mouth.

Black pats me on the back. “Sorry, man. We’ve all been there.” He looks at the cup as if it’s evil.

I whole-heartedly agree with him.

“Alright, now what?” I ask.

Zephora gives an evil grin. “You finish it.”

I gulp, looking down at the cup. “But will that knock me out?”

She shrugs. “Shouldn’t.” I glare at her. “But you need it. You’re in awful shape, especially for a shifter who should be healing. You need it.”

I sense the truth in her words, even if my pride bristles. I throw the cup back and down it in two large gulps.

“There. How’s that?” I choke out, my gag reflex trying to engage.

“Good.” She gives me a gentle smile and pats my arm, the scary, demented healer gone and in her place a kind soul. Somehow, that doesn't make me fear her any less.

“Help him get strapped on Harry. He should be able to rest through the pain.” Black gives her a smart salute. She rolls her eyes, then grabs my shoulder when I tip to the side.

“Come on then, Shifter. Time for your nappy nap.” I so want to punch Black right now.

But instead, I use him as a crutch as my body gets less and less coordinated and I have to stagger, almost losing my balance.

Black grunts as he catches me. Again. “You don’t look like you weigh as much as a Berserk.”

I chuckle, a fogginess coming over my mind that dulls the pain and helps me ignore the void in my heart where betrayal and loss left it shattered.

“Not strong enough to tote me around?”

“Plenty — strong enough...” he grunts again, and I put more effort into helping him help me walk. “It’s just that nobody warned me I’d be toting dead weight around today.”

“You should always be prepared for all things.” I smart back to him.

He laughs. “Fine. My mother always taught me to be polite. For that reason, I should agree with the half-dead dog.” I glare at him, but since my eyes can’t quite focus, I don’t think it gets the point across. He points up at the Berserk. “Now, do you think you can get up there?”

I glance from my feet up, up, and up to the top of the mighty Berserk lumbering towards us. I shift a deadpan of a look at the crazy cat. My eyes go cross-eyed trying to meet his gaze.

He chuckles. “Good thing you ain’t gotta then. He’s a good boy. Harry will take care of you while you nap.”

I snap my eyes open. “Huh?” I mumble.

“Nothing. Harry, be gentle with him. He’s weak as a newborn cub at the moment.” Harry snakes his long trunk around my arm, just as he did earlier. Then he gently touches each wound, even the ones that are not visible—like my still cracked ribs. The soft hair on the end tickles my skin as he brushes the infected wound last.

I lock eyes with him and again sense the kind intelligence within. This is a creature I can trust. The other creatures? That's another matter entirely.