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Had he been anything but a doctor, Enkiel would have found something sexual about the behavior of the massage. Sex was one of the last things on his mind these days, though he had been quite interested in Sa’adat when he had arrived. It helped that she was size, he supposed—the idea of mating with a woman larger than him was laughable. After all, he had seen how well that had worked out with Talitha and Cotl.
At Zana’s question, the jackal nodded and slid from the large male’s back. He reached for and pulled on the woolen poncho hanging from a nail nearby, smoothing his dark hair with one hand with practiced indifference. Enkiel kept his appearance up for more than simply his own gain; filth was something that no gods approved of. Even the mad Arabs had known that. “There is much more to medicine than simply tea,” the red-eyed man explained, and while he did not smile, there was the ghost of humor in his tone. “If it was so easy I would not have need for this building.” For indeed within he stored a mass of strange and homebrewed medicines for such purposes. It was the only duty he had found worthy of his time—he was too small to fight, too unprepared for the weather to truly scout.
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