The jackal had almost finished with his winter work, sorting through the stock and refilling jars with poultices made from herbs and animal fat. He had restocked the shelves within his storage room and begun the less demanding task of cleaning out the leather. What was stained was tossed away, and he made scratch-marks on a sheet of parchment to notate his losses. By keeping his inventory so carefully monitored the healer insured that nothing went unnoticed.

He had been up for about an hour, and just finished a small morning meal when the knock came at the door. Black ears rose as an unfamiliar voice drawled on—but he recognized the accent soon enough and frowned. “Enter,” he called, and advanced into the central room. If the man had already injured himself then it would most certainly be a poor reflection upon whatever talents he had bragged to Ezekiel about. Hopefully this was not the case; sometimes people simply came asking for herbs, which he had little issue distributing.

Knowing basic healing was one thing, but training and understanding the body as well as Enkiel did was another. He was surprised to see not the man alone, but with a woman in tow. His mate? No, she was too close to him in scent and appearance for such a thing. A sister, most likely. Enkiel’s stony face remained still as he watched the pair study the room.

In truth, this main area did not contain much. It was a kitchen and living room combination, with no wall separating them. A long and now hide-covered couch took up much of the living room area, wrapping around a long and low table left from the previous owner. This was in far better condition than the rotting couch had been, though one would hardly think such a thing now that it was refurbished with deer pelts. That had been Ezekiel’s work, something he had made a point to test here before deciding to do the same thing in the mansion. That half of the project was still waiting to begin, for the majority of hides had been used on the behemoth that Enkiel used for guests and (as was evidenced now) for the kitten curled up on it. A fire burned merrily beyond the low table, warming the room. There was a wood-burning stove in the kitchen also lit, and while these two kept the area remarkably warm, Enkiel did such a thing out of necessity. He could not bear the outside cold.

The décor of this place was simple, much of it buck skulls and paintings of the Waste. Talitha had given him those, and Enkiel cherished them dearly. He sorely hoped to see her return, but knew in his heart it would likely never come. The siren had not bound herself to Inferni as her brother had.

At the strange voices, the silvery kitten (though she was nearly cat now, and growing daily) rose and let out a chirping coo, though Enkiel ignored her. She was becoming used to strangers and while curious about these new ones, did not feel they were important enough to leave her warm patch and dipped he head back onto the furs.

Enkiel advanced to meet the two, silent as they explained the cause of the wound. Oh yes, they were siblings—the way they behaved around each other was nothing less than that. The jackal inserted himself between the pair, taking hold of the woman’s arm gingerly. Her binding was done tight enough that he was certain she had likely been going through periods of numbness. He trailed his fine fingers over the forearm and to the wrist, where a peculiar bump caused him to frown.

“You have broken it,” he said flatly. “It has healed over, but wrong. I will need to set it properly. Come with me.” He released her and turned, trailing down the wide hallway. The first door on the left was without a solid door itself, having only a leather flap. Things were easier this way…unless he had mad patients like Vesper, who had destroyed the other room upon her first shift. He held the leather aside for them to enter, and motioned to the bed. It was Luperci made, with a low frame and “mattress” stuffed with moss and feathers inside of deer hide. Another stove was in this room, as well as a two shelves stocked with various supplies. Each room was capable of handling a patient with common ailments; he had seen a great value in this preparation.

“I will first need to give you medicine to make you relax. If you are tense while this occurs, it could damage your muscle. Please, sit,” he gestured to the bed and turned, pulling a kettle onto the stove. While all of these (and there were four total, in this house) were constantly lit, those in rooms not in use were allowed to simmer to coals. It was still warm enough to heat water for his purpose, of course.

There was, without a doubt, a simplistic elegance in his lack of décor. He found Arab style too stuffy, and even Egyptian artwork tended to irritate him—it reminded him too much of his family. By having less he was free to avoid clutter aside from his own, which compared to some of the clan, was defined by his current “mess” of evenly lined out dried plants and other materials needed to be prepared.

The dark man seemed to attempt to ease his sister. Enkiel pulled a few jars from the shelves, noting that the supplies were shrinking yet. More training and more attacks had meant his wares were stretched thin; he made a note to gather more plants for the Greenhouse come summer. Fine, long fingers pulled out varying amounts of plants. Feverfew, rosemary, thyme, witch hazel…and a generous amount of opium were all mixed into a bowl. The water, while not boiling, was hot enough for his purposes.

Enkiel waited until the color had darkened slightly, and then turned to hand her the bowl. “Drink this. It will help you relax.” Though not enough to knock her unconscious, it would make her extremely less lucid and unable to tense when he went through the process. “I will begin when you have finished.” This was not the whole truth; he would only hold her arm and test it until her muscles went lax—then the true work would commence.

The jackal watched the woman through the corner of his eye, his focus apparently on her wrist alone. He used various sorts of methods to tell when his medicine worked; her pulse racing under his fingers, for one. Breathing was a second sign, though not as obvious. One could calm themselves and force their lungs to behave, but the pulse was different indeed. Able to count and understand algorithms as well as he did (a useless skill here, though he would have been a blessing in al-Iskandariyya), these northern lands were quite feral and mathematical concepts would have been lost on most of his companions. Ezekiel had grown incredibly bored, unable to grasp the concepts, and even though Gabriel had once tried to humor him and listen, Enkiel had recognized his gruff uncle was equally unresponsive.

Red eyes flicked up as he felt her pulse slow under his palm. While Ana was not asleep, she was clearly dazed. Enkiel was glad for this—the true pain was horrendous at first, though adrenaline would rush in and numb her as well as the herbs. He doubted she would have allowed him to do such a thing had she any idea what setting a bone was like.

His movement was suddenly but not without grace. A strong arm grasped her forearm at the elbow and gripped it hard. Enkiel’s right hand wrapped around her wrist, giving space for the joint itself, and with slow precision he forced the bone to break. It was done with care; a splintering bone or bit of marrow could cost her dearly. He was lucky it was an arm and not the leg. When the break was complete he allowed the wounded hand to ease back into place and held it there firmly.

Meanwhile, his left hand dropped to the soaking birch bark at his feet. He had discovered its use from Gabriel, and was startled by how solid the plant dried. Gingerly, he began to wrap this around her wrist. It took several strips, each soaked and applied with great caution, always careful to ensure her wrist did not move out of place. Satisfied, he continued to hold her still. “When this dries you will not need to worry. As long as it does not get wet it will keep your wrist where it must be to heal.”

The jackal was not a man who found the concept of community one beyond the give and take of his duty. Enkiel would have thrived in Egypt where the merchants yet controlled the land; he might have found himself rising to politics, to become a man who whispered to the ear of the Pharaoh as all his advisors did. While a king, he was not a figurehead that the common-folk so imagined him to be. His mad mother had explained this as she had explained their calling—gods incarnate, she said. Enkiel was born Horus, but he was Sobek in truth—the Nile was his to command and the healing power of it within his hands.

So he remained impassive when it came to the woman’s outburst, sangria colored eyes trailing from her to the brother. He rose, looking to the darker man now. “I will find you when it can come off,” he explained. The jackal had learned to track dates, using the time of the moon and the rising and falling of the sun. This basic system had yet elevated him from the others; using concepts such as time and numbers were not common here. Turning back to the shelves behind him, Enkiel reached for a small pile of leather pouches. One of these he lifted, and extended to the pair. “Heat water and put some of this within it; you may use as much or as little as you wish. It will help with sleep.”