The wind carried the scent of pine and the faintest trace of rain as it rolled through the open windows of the healer's quarters. Arin sat near the hearth, wrapped in a thick woolen shawl, her hands cupped around a warm mug of herbal tea. The steady rhythm of crackling flames was a comforting backdrop to the quiet that had settled over the room. Her body still ached, but the worst of it had passed. The fever had broken, the bruises were healing, and her strength, though not fully restored, was slowly returning.
The door creaked open, and Arin looked up as Zayan stepped inside, his presence as steady and commanding as ever. He wore a simple linen shirt and trousers, his dark hair tied back, his scent clean with only a hint of forest clinging to him.
"You are awake," he said, a faint smile softening the hard lines of his face.
Arin gave him a small nod. "And still very much alive. Thanks to you."
