I Carry the Prince in My Arms
#8
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     There were at least three ribs broken that Gabriel could feel. Corona would have to look him over, given that her medicinal knowledge outweighed his own. Field-training had only offered him so much. Blonde-black hair fell around his face as the Aquila worked, listening silently to the woman beside him. She explained enough to give him a culprit, but what his son had been doing with the painted woman the hybrid did not understand.
     Without looking her in the face, the scarred man continued to treat his son. “What were you two doing?” Both hands moved with a soldier’s training; what he did know had been learnt on the battlefield. It would be enough to hold until dawn, when Marlowe could find Corona. Seemingly aware of this, the raven had left the Aquila’s shoulder and taken to studying the damage—something Gabriel was only mildly perturbed by. Despite his trust for the bird, he could not help but recognize the look of a scavenger.


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