“Fine.” She snarled the words but at last obliged me, laying herself out on the wood with her face averted. Half dressed, the skin of her back gleamed in the firelight, and the coppery smell of blood mingled with the scent of bath oil and pine. I eyed the needle and suture before me, glad that she could not see my unease. I had never sutured skin before, and I had a feeling it was going to be very different from leather or cloth. I took a sip of wine to steady my nerves, then took another.

“Do you want something to bite down on?” I asked.

“No.”

I swallowed, my throat already dry again, then threaded the needle with the line.

“Why are you helping me?” Her voice was flat, and all I could see of her expression was the tension in her shoulders.

“I don’t know,” I answered, the truth slipping out. “But if it festers and you die, I’m dead, too.”

“So, you have decided to live?”

“I have decided I don’t want to be eaten by that bear of yours.”

She made a sound that might have been a laugh. Like this, prostrate on the table with her face hidden, I could almost forget that I did not know what she was. You’ve been alone for too long, I told myself. Do not be fooled by beauty, or by blood.

“What convinced you?”

“This,” I said, pushing the needle through. The feel of her flesh parting made my stomach churn, and I nearly lost my nerve. The Huntress held unnaturally still until I tied off the first stitch, but sweat sprang to the surface of her skin. “What would you have done without me?” I asked, forcing myself to breathe. Looking at the wound was making my head spin.

“Curled up in a ball until it healed enough to let me throw a spear.”

“And if it hadn’t healed?”

“It would have.”

I threaded the needle again and begged to differ. Wounds like this could be fatal.

“I’ve received worse,” she said, reading my thoughts.

Her skin, aside from the rents, was smooth and unblemished without so much as a birthmark, let alone a scar. I ran my hand along one of the muscles of her back, bracing myself to place the next stitch. My breath sounded very loud in my ears. I shoved the needle through again and whimpered.

“Rowan.” The Huntress sat up, placing her hand over mine and taking the needle from me. I stared at it, trembling, willing myself to stop shaking. Skin was just leather. I could do this. I had to do this because there was no one else. Would never be anyone else for as long as I lived, trapped here on a distant mountain unless I could find my way back to a home I was not entirely sure I wanted.

“Let me help you,” I said, my voice steadying. “Please.”