Of course! Maybe this morning’s lecture hadn’t been so irrelevant after all. Petronio quickly emptied the bag. Various odd-shaped metal objects cascaded out. To a trainee surgeon, one of them was well known, though much smaller and finely worked than its Dendran version: a hypodermic syringe.

Time was running out; the woman could barely draw breath, let alone speak. With her remaining strength, she pointed weakly toward her upper arm.

His first real emergency! Petronio grabbed the syringe and quickly pushed up the rough woolen sleeve, revealing a smooth, hairless arm. The touch of her skin made him shiver. Clinically, his fingers felt for the right spot. He uncapped the needle and pushed it in deep, slowly depressing the plunger.

The woman’s eyes rolled back and her arms flailed once, then flopped to her sides. She was dead! He’d killed her! But his hands worked of their own accord, doing what they’d been taught to do — grabbing her wrist and feeling for a pulse.

Nothing. No. Wait. He felt something, faint as a breeze through leaves. The relief was enormous. Petronio took the leather bag and placed it under her head. Then he folded her body to one side, in the recovery position. All he could do now was to wait and see if whatever was in the syringe would do its work.

A few minutes passed. The forest was unusually silent. No birdcalls. No scampering of squirrels. It was as if the trees were holding their breath to see if evolution could so easily be tricked. The woman’s eyelids began to flutter. Petronio bent over her and checked her vital signs again. Some moments later she opened her eyes, resting them on her rescuer. Even though the woman had nearly died, a thin smile creased her lips.

“You saved my life.”

Petronio turned bright red. He was surprised by his own actions. “Happy to be of … er … service.”

“Yes. I think you are. Here …” She tried sitting up.

He leaned forward to help, grasping her wrists to pull her up. He became aware of her scent again, her too-smooth skin, her differentness.

“Your clever trees have tried to kill me. I am looking forward to returning the favor one day!”

Petronio felt suddenly too close for comfort. He stood up, unsure of what to do, or say. “I’m, um, studying to be a surgeon.” He held up the syringe. “This must be some kind of fast-acting antidote?”

“Good boy. They teach you well.” That smile again. It almost knocked him out.

He nodded.

“I have a daughter your age. Randall.” For a moment, her tone was distant. “We used to get on well.”

Petronio wondered what life was like in Maw. The thought of it sounded exciting, full of potential.