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Used to such reactions, Enkiel ignored them. His fingers worked over the muscles, feeling knots and swelling, recognizing what was caused by the wounds and what was caused by stress. He made mental notes as he worked rhythmically, black hair falling at his shoulders, eyes focused on the man’s back. Zana’s presence was noted but it was not such that the doctor was bothered.
“The bandage should come off your tail soon,” he added, finishing with one knot. The lean jackal sat upright and cracked his own back with one arching motion, pale fur bristling against the cold. He shifted his weight and began to run his knuckles along Helotes’ spine, occasionally pressing down to test whether or not his back needed cracked. He said nothing more. Enkiel was not a man who spoke much, and when he did it was hardly conversational.
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