Emily had not changed from her choice of fetal position. She was groaning, so clearly still alive, but beyond that seemed unwilling to move. She looked up at Winterwing, miserable, but lucid. She her arms were covered in blood.

“I’m okay,” she lied from the ground.

He knelt down next to her, and she sat up, complaining through gritted teeth as she did so. The palms of both hands appeared to be the source of the bleeding.

“How did-” he started.

“It works both ways,” she said hoarsely, looking at her hands, mystified.

“What?” He said stupidly.

“It didn’t know what a sword was exactly,” she explained, “it got pretty close.”

He looked over his shoulder, as if Asteroth’s body would still be there for him to inspect. But the wizard had simply turned to dust, and any evidence of wound seemed gone with him. “You pulled a sword out of nothing?”

“No, no, not, not nothing,” she scrutinized her bleeding palms, “I donated the iron, I think.”

He was fairly certain that could not have been true, but did not argue. “Keep them clenched for now, and above the shoulder. It’ll help.”

“Stop being weird,” she scowled, “you’re in worse shape than I am.”

“Stings like you wouldn’t believe,” Winterwing agreed.

Blood was dripping from her elbows. She grimaced, and little worming coils of blue, burning vine glowed between her feathers, under her skin. She presented him with clean, unblemished and unharmed palms, and gave a small noise of triumph, the blood evaporated away.

“This is beginning to feel like you are showing off,” he said.

“You know-” she trailed off, her attention taken instead by something over his shoulder. Her eyes went wide, and he turned, the open wounds on his chest complaining as he did. Wildwing was approaching, with a fury that they hadn’t seen before.

“You,” Wildwing started.

Winterwing was up on his feet before he could think to do anything else, standing between them. Wildwing didn’t seem to see him at all, didn’t even acknowledge that he was there, his gaze fixed firmly on Emily still on the ground. “You did this.”

“What are you mad about now?” Winterwing demanded, looking past him, to the others, who all appeared to have regained their feet, except for one. Canard, still pinned to the ground, under a network of concrete that Tanya was trying her best to remove. No one was hurrying, and there was more than one furtive glance in their direction, and something hushed said between them.

Nosedive was trying to dissuade Wildwing as best he could, trailing behind him, unwilling to directly interfere, grasping at his brother’s arm, pleading with him. “Wing, stop it, she didn’t do anything-”

“I didn’t–I didn’t,” Emily moved awkwardly from her spot from the ground, scooting away a few useless inches, and seemed unable to do anything else. “He was talking to me, he was fine, he was fine, I didn’t-”

“I trusted you-” Wildwing started.

Winterwing threw his arms wide as if that was going to protect her, the feathers at the back of his neck standing on end. There wasn’t going to be anything else for it, he was going to have to tackle his stronger and faster self, and again endure that beating that was going to provoke, at least until someone was more willing to intervene on his behalf. Winterwing surprised himself by finding it within him to mirror the menace that was coming at him. It only made sense that he could.

Winterwing took a step forward of his own and shouted back, “We’re only here because you couldn’t handle this yourself!”

Wildwing stopped in his tracks, and the expression on his face faltered from single-minded rage, finally realizing Winterwing was even there.

“If you have a complaint about the manner in which you were saved, next time you can handle whatever was in that hole on your own,” Winterwing added in much lower tone, angling an eyebrow to the now flawless blue sky.

Wildwing was focused on him now. “Was this the plan all along?”

“What plan?” Winterwing demanded, gesturing to the others as they gathered. “You’re going to blame this on us? You think I spend my entire day being watched by a bunch of armed guards for the chance of assassinating someone I’ve never met? Or maybe the saurians you pissed off, and the wizard you pissed off, and the monsters you pissed off-”

“You still don’t have any explanation for why you are here-”

“That you pissed off,” Winterwing said more forcefully, peeved at being interrupted, “finally got lucky?”

Nosedive took the uneasy, seething silence to speak up.  “She didn’t do it.”

Wildwing opened his mouth to argue.

“He’s right,” Nosedive insisted. “If they wanted to hurt us they could have just done nothing.”

“She crushed the life out of him,” Wildwing said flatly. He did not turn and look, but behind him Tanya still working at freeing Canard from the grasp of the cement. Nosedive looked down to his own feet, and Winterwing felt just a little more respect for the kid growing on him. Standing up to his brother on behalf of two strangers was not easy.

Nosedive murmured, “Maybe it’s an accident.”

“Hell of an accident,” Wildwing snapped.

“She had to incapacitate him alone, what would you have suggested?” Winterwing asked.

Wildwing fell blissfully silent, staring at him, and then cast an accusing glance to Nosedive,  and then finally turned to leave, without a single punch thrown. He joined the group trying to free the body, though it appeared there was little for him to do, as the vines of cement themselves began to fall apart of their own accord, turning into the same wasting black dust as everything else Emily touched, or the parasite before her.

The danger passed, Winterwing exhaled, the complaining flesh of his chest reminding him of its presence. “Thank you,” he said to Nosedive.

“He isn’t going to let that go,” Nosedive said, still refusing to make eye contact with anyone.

Winterwing nodded, and turned away. Emily was still on the ground, her wrists hanging limply on her knees, looking up at both of them, shaken and wide-eyed. 

“He was fine,” she insisted.