The wound was still swollen. It was still dark and looked awful. But it wasn’t nearly as angry as it had been. No pus. And not much smell, either. And there was a fine crust of blood and honey where Larkin had made his cut, though the seam began to ease open as I watched, and Larkin quickly tied the bandage snug again.

“We should stitch that closed,” I said, though I had never done such a thing.

“No,” Cate said. “Not yet. We might still need to open it up. The bandage will be enough for now.”

She pulled the blanket back over her leg. “I’ll need your help to go outside,” she said to me. “Not quite yet, but soon.”

She still hadn’t said hello.

Neither had Larkin.

Neither had I.

“How did you hurt your eye?” I asked.

Cate pulled the little doll out from under the blanket and set it to one side. “I told you,” she said. “He came to see me.”

“It was an accident,” Larkin said.

Cate snorted. “Which happened because your mother was in a rage.”

Larkin shrugged. “You’re not wrong. But it was still an accident.” He turned to me. “She made me do my chores when we got home last night.”

“In the dark,” Cate muttered.

“And I was angry, too. And I split a log so hard that a piece of wood kicked back. Caught me in the eye.” He smiled ruefully. “I won’t do that again.”

Cate flapped her hand impatiently. “But now it’s done. So let’s get on with things. Ellie, stir up the fire, will you? And heat your knife again.”

“But the honey’s working.”

“Not for my leg,” she said. “For his eye.”

Larkin nodded. “She means to let off some of the blood.” He didn’t seem too alarmed at the idea. Trust lay calm on his face.

“And then a poultice,” she said.

“I brought a potato for that,” Larkin said.

Cate nodded. “Grate that into a bowl while Ellie heats the knife.” She struggled to sit up.

We both helped her—Captan coming close to supervise—until we had her perched on the edge of the bed, weaving a little with dizziness, hanging on to both of us, her head low.

“Stars,” she said. “Such a pretty warning.”

We held her steady until she could raise her head.

Her bare feet, flat on the wood floor, were thin and white, woven through with blue veins, her toes tipped with thick yellow nails.

“Do you have socks?” I said.

She pointed. “In that trunk, there.”

I fetched a pair, happy to see other warm things inside the trunk. A pair of good boots nearby, waiting.

I gave Larkin the socks. “Put these on her while I heat the knife.”

He looked like he wanted to say something, but he didn’t.

Cate watched us, smiling a little.