“Friend! Ha. We are kin,” the old woman said.

Lilia was aware of the muzzy promise of pain, as if it lurked there at the edges of her fingertips.

“I did the best I could,” Nirata said, “but I’m afraid we need to move you now.”

“But I’m–”

Nirata drew the hemp cloth from Lilia’s body. Beneath, she was naked; thin and knob-kneed, with great yellow bruises pinwheeling across her chest.

“Give me your left hand,” Nirata said.

Lilia raised her left arm. A knife of pain hammered up her torso. She cried out. Her arm only moved a few inches.

Nirata took Lilia’s left hand. Lilia remembered seeing the broken wrist, the mangled fingers. It was still bruised. She saw puckered red scars where the bone had splintered through the skin.

“Rotate that for me, child,” Nirata said.

Lilia tried. She could not bend it back. But it did come forward a little, with great effort. And pain. Sina, why was there so much pain?

“Make a fist.”

“I… can’t,” Lilia said.

“You can.”

Lilia tensed her fingers. They would not meet her palm.

“We don’t have time,” Gian said. “Can she walk?”

“It’s not the walking that worries me,” Nirata said. “Eight days is not long enough for a woman with a descendent star. If you gave me eight weeks, I could heal her properly.”

“Your star isn’t descendent,” Gian said. “It’s rising. I expected more.”

“I’m a woman with a great many stars,” Nirata said. “Oma knits flesh more easily than bone.”

“Eight days?” Lilia said. “That long?”

“Should have been longer,” Nirata said. “You won’t have much movement in that shoulder. Your collarbone was broken. It may still hurt to breathe. Avoid further injury to your torso, too – you broke seven ribs. It’s a wonder none of them punctured a lung. Your ankle was broken, too. Take my hand. Let’s get you up on that now.”

Lilia gripped Nirata’s hand with her good one. Nirata helped ease her off the table.

“Hurry,” Gian said.

“Hurrying gets us mistakes,” Nirata said. “I’ve already made far too many here.”

“Give her the poppy.”

“No,” Lilia said. She tried to stand. Leaned heavily on Nirata. Both legs hurt now. Her good ankle had been mangled in the fall. She wondered what she looked like. She touched her face. Felt puckered, still-healing flesh where the karoi had pecked at her. As she stood she noticed something dangling from her neck. It was the karoi beak, tied on a long string.

“What’s this for?” she said.

“For luck,” Nirata said. “Gian kept it for luck. You know all about luck, don’t you, Gian? The karoi are lucky. To be eaten and to live, that is a boon, child. Gian was eaten, once, but I pulled her from the jaws of death. Just as she’s done for you.”