"Please, it's Thomas and William," Thomas said, "and this is our companion, Quinn. She's the one who helped get your ... uh ... son out of the tree."

"I'm Colin," the man said, "and Elliott is my brother's child. My wife, Lindsey, and I are caring for him at present."

"Where are his parents?" William asked. "Should we speak with them as well?"

"My brother and his wife live in Philotheum," Colin said. "They both felt that it was ... safer for Elliott to stay here with us."

Quinn glanced questioningly at Thomas, but he only shrugged, frowning as if he were as confused as she was.

"Well, Elliott is fine," William told them. "He has some small scrapes, but nothing looks at all serious. The blood on his clothing is from my friend Quinn here. She took quite a risk saving your nephew today."

Both Colin and Lindsey turned their attention to Quinn, grateful looks in their eyes. "Thank you so much. I don't know what we would have done if something had happened," Lindsey said, kissing the boy on the cheek over and over.

Once Elliott's guardians had finally been sent on their way, William, Thomas, and Linnea continued leading Quinn into the village.

They passed several more of the picturesque houses, and then, almost suddenly, the forest broke, revealing a bustling little town. They walked through two streets of houses, and then the next corner revealed a busy square in what appeared to be the center of the village.

"It's a Market Day," Linnea told her, as they passed a number of little stands where merchants sold a wide variety of goods. Some stands held fruits and vegetables, while the aroma of spices Quinn couldn't recognize drifted from others. One older woman's stand held shelves and shelves of glass jars in every color; one next to hers sold jewelry.

They didn't pause long enough to really look at anything William seemed determined to get Quinn to the clinic quickly. Fascinated at her surroundings though she was, she didn't argue. Her arm was really beginning to hurt. She found herself holding her elbow, trying to keep their quick pace from jostling the injured limb. The bandage that he had wrapped around the bloody scrapes was becoming saturated, and more red splotches kept appearing on her shirt.

Only one street over from the busy square, William stopped and began climbing the steps of a small house sandwiched between two others. She was confused, until she saw the small wooden sign that read "Bay Run Clinic" hanging from the wooden porch railing. At the door, William knocked, but didn't wait for an answer before walking in. Thomas and Linnea, who were right behind her, escorted her inside.

Though the clinic was smaller than any she had ever been in, it was also distinctly familiar. The main room held two treatment areas, separated by low, wooden walls. Rough, heavy curtains that could be pulled around the beds hung from the ceiling. The room was empty when they entered, but a moment later a man appeared through a doorway that led to the back of the building.

"William!" the man said, walking right up to him. He was probably in his late twenties, with sandy brown hair and kind, green eyes. "And Thomas and Linnea, too. What a surprise." He turned his eyes to Quinn. "And this is?"

"Our friend, Quinn," William said. "Quinn, this is our dear friend, Robert, the doctor here in Bay Run."

"Very nice to ... oh! What happened?" Robert asked, suddenly taking in Quinn's bloodied shirt and the way she cradled her right arm.

"She's scraped up her arm pretty badly," William said. "Can I borrow your clinic to take a look at it?"

"Of course," Robert said. "Anything you need."

While William explained what had happened to Robert, Thomas led her over to the first cot, and lifted her on to the crisp, white sheets. Linnea busied herself propping pillows up behind Quinn's back.

Robert stood near the edge of the bed and watched with interest as William began to unwrap the bandage. She winced when the gauze pulled at the gash, and she heard the collective intake of breath from everyone who was watching.

After several long minutes of investigating and cleaning, each touch growing more painful, although she knew he was being as gentle as he could manage, William looked up at her with a serious expression on his face. "You really scraped this up, and it's completely full of splinters. You're going to need stitches." He glanced over at Robert, who nodded, and walked over into a little room, which she guessed was probably a supply closet.

She suddenly felt a little dizzy. "No. I'll be fine. It's just some scratches."

William raised his eyebrows.

"What is it about you and coming here?" Thomas teased. "Can't manage to keep from injuring yourself for ten days? Are you like this at home?"

She shot him a dark look. "No. I scratch and bruise myself all the time, especially in the summer when I'm leading horseback rides at the ranch, but I've never needed stitches until the last time I was here."

"Never needed them, or never gotten them?" William asked, eyeing a scar just above her left knee, where Quinn had snagged herself with a fishing hook last summer at the ranch. She blushed, wondering when, exactly, he had noticed that. She hadn't worn shorts in front of him very often.

Her eyes narrowed. "Never needed them." She glanced down at the scar, though, realizing for the first time how much more pronounced it was than the little line that William had sewn up for her on her last visit, which had nearly disappeared.

She remembered that day, promising the nurse at the ranch that she would have her mom take her to have it looked at that evening if she needed to, but she'd been convinced it was fine, and had just worn pants to hide it for the next few weeks. And it was fine. She hadn't needed stitches.

Thomas chuckled. "Maybe you don't spend so much time at home trying to play hero of the day, and that's how you avoid stitches there."

She glared at him, and then looked up at William. "Really, I'm fine."

His expression was sympathetic, but unwavering as he continued poking and prodding at her arm. She turned to Linnea, giving her best pleading look. Linnea was compassionate, but shook her head saying, "I don't argue with William about stuff like this."

Robert returned then, setting down a metal tray of supplies on the little table near the bed. Quinn deliberately avoided looking at what he'd brought, though it didn't stop her mind from picturing needles. "I have some patients I need to ride out and check on. Are you okay here?"

William nodded, and began organizing the things Robert had brought.

"Okay, then. If I don't see you again today, I'm sure I will soon," he said, looking at each of the three siblings. "Quinn, it was nice meeting you. I know you'll recover quickly with William taking care of you.

"Thank you," she said. "It was very nice meeting you, too."

As Robert walked out the front door, there was a clink of glass against metal on the tray, and her stomach rolled.

"Are you okay?" Linnea asked, looking concerned.

Thomas, who had disappeared to the other side of the room, returned now with a folded washcloth. "Lie back sweetheart," he said, helping her. "She and William have similar feelings when it comes to needles," he explained to Linnea.

"Oh." She watched as Thomas placed the washcloth on Quinn's forehead. "Oh."

"She can climb trees and fearlessly rescue small children, but when it comes to needles..."

She rolled her eyes or tried to, anyway though she couldn't argue. Her stomach turned with every noise that came from beside the bed.

"And she can't have valoris seed, either."

"Right." Linnea laid her hand on Quinn's shoulder.

"Either?" Quinn wondered, feeling a little less lightheaded with the cool cloth on her forehead.

"Actually, none of us are supposed take it. It's very rare to react to it at all, but bad reactions run in our family."

Quinn was stunned. "You never told me that before."

Thomas shrugged. "I've never even tried it, honestly. Simon reacted when he was little. Maxwell took it once, and he was fine, but then Rebecca had a bad reaction to it when she was just about Emma and Alex's age. After that, Nathaniel refused to allow it to be used on any of us. He won't take it, either. I guess one of his brothers had a reaction when he was younger and Nathaniel never wanted to risk it.

"That is really weird wait, one of his brothers? He's your uncle, right? Isn't he the brother of one of your parents?"

"Um, no," Linnea answered. "We've always called him our uncle, because he came to live with our grandparents when he was a young teenager, and our father considers him a brother, but he isn't technically."

"Then who is he really?"

"I don't know all of the details. I know that he is actually distantly related in some way, but the rest of it is one of those, 'we don't discuss it in front of the children' things."

"Maybe it's just something that hasn't ever come up because it isn't important. Nathaniel is our uncle, 'technically' or no." William's voice carried a hint of irritation. She knew how close William and Nathaniel were, and she guessed he didn't much like the discussion.

He softly took hold of her elbow with his left hand, and her stomach wobbled. Her head turned automatically to watch what he was doing.

"Eyes over here, Quinn." Thomas put his finger under her chin, turning her head to the side of the bed where he stood. He stared at her, trying to keep her eyes on his. Linnea sat down next to the pile of pillows, running her fingers through Quinn's knotted hair.

"And relax," Linnea said. She put one hand on her shoulder, steadying it, and shifted her body slightly to obscure Quinn's view of William.

Next to her, William moved, too, turning his back to block her view completely.

"You're fine, Quinn. I've got you." Thomas took her right hand in his, holding it securely while William prodded some more at the wound on her upper arm. His touch was feather-light, but several times she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out.

"I know," she said, trying to sound upbeat, "You guys must think I'm a big coward."

"Yeah, we do," Linnea said, "but we like you anyway."

She managed a giggle.

"That's better," Thomas said. He tightened his grip when she flinched at a sudden, cold swipe of alcohol.

"Sorry, Quinn," William said, and she turned to look at him, despite Thomas' attempts to distract her. Her gray eyes were wide with anxiety. "I don't think any less of you," he said, and he meant it. "These two aren't kidding when they tease me for being the same way."

"No, we're not." Linnea chortled. "I heard he fainted the last time."

William rolled his eyes. He had not fainted, he'd just ... come close. "Just wait, Linnea ... if it's ever you..."

Linnea just smiled, looking kindly at Quinn. "It's true. I've never had them come at me with needles. I might be the same way." She squeezed Quinn's shoulder.

"Thomas has." The girl looked back over at his carefree younger brother. William seized the opportunity of her being distracted again to pick up the first syringe full of anesthetic.

"Sure. But I freaked out pretty good the first five or six times, too. Keep hurting yourself and you'll catch up with me."

"I don't think that's a competition I want to win." She actually grinned.

"There's my smile," Thomas said.

The smile disappeared a second later, though, with the first jab of the needle. William felt her arm tense up, and he worked as carefully as he could, injecting as large a radius as possible before he had to remove the needle and stick her again. He silently willed the numbness to spread faster than the stinging sensation he knew she was feeling.

"Just breathe," Thomas told her. William was overcome with an odd emotion as he watched his brother rub the back of Quinn's hand soothingly with his thumb for a moment he wished he were one comforting her, rather than the one hurting her more. He shook it off, realizing that was ridiculous.

He was grateful for Thomas' presence here, which always made this kind of thing easier on everyone.

She nodded, exhaling as he finally pulled out the syringe.

"See, you're already doing better than the last time."

She tried to smile again, but only made it halfway.

"Another pinch," William told her, glad that nobody seemed to notice how he worked to keep his own voice steady.

She took a deep breath, and concentrated on Thomas' eyes. She wasn't quite so tense this time, which made William feel better the medicine must have been starting to do its job. She lay there, perfectly still and watching Thomas as William worked carefully to numb her entire upper arm.

He was thorough; after all of this, he didn't want her to feel anything when he did the stitches, or especially when he started digging in for the splinters. Several of those spots were literally becoming red and inflamed as he watched.

She still flinched at each new poke, but she didn't actually lose her patience until he was fortunately on the last one. "You didn't give me this many shots the last time."

Thomas smiled at the girl's exasperation, but her eyes were on William now.

"You didn't scrape up half your arm the last time. You've got three separate cuts here that need stitches. Besides, you were unconscious for most of it last time. How would you know?"

Thomas chuckled at her sigh.

"I'm done with those now, though. I'm just going to give it a minute to make sure it's completely numb before I clean and stitch it."

"The bad part is over," Thomas said. "You can just lay here and relax now."

"Almost," William amended, and Quinn looked up at him in surprise.

"What do you mean, almost?" she asked, suspicious.

He sighed and watched as the expression in her eyes became even more accusing. If Thomas had been looking at him that way, he would have been bracing himself against an oncoming punch. "There's a lot of debris in these wounds. I would feel a lot better if I got some antibiotics into you."

The muscles in her face relaxed. "That's not so bad. I've taken antibiotics before. I'm not allergic or anything."

Thomas raised his eyebrows, and William's heart sank. It was true, in her world, that most of the time, "antibiotics" meant taking pills for a week. In Eirentheos not so much.

"What?" she demanded.

"It's not like there are pharmacies here and it's easy to just write a prescription for some pills, Quinn. Besides, you're going to need some in your system a little faster than that." The way the skin around some of her splinters was beginning to swell, he was actually wishing that he'd given her the antibiotic shot first.

"Oh." Her color drained again. "Does that mean what I think it does?"

"One more shot, that's all," he promised, cleaning a spot on the side of her thigh before she had a chance to protest. "These do hurt, but I'll be as quick and gentle as I can." Her pulse started to beat so rapidly he could actually see the artery in her neck throbbing.

Thomas gripped her hand again. "It's just for a minute, Quinn." She nodded, clearly trying to hold herself together. "Not nearly as bad as shadeweed remedy."

If Robert hadn't left, William would have considered asking him to do this part. Instead, he hid behind his irritation from earlier. "Not nearly as bad as an infected arm, either," he said. "Or, say, falling out of a tree and being crushed by a couple hundred pounds of wood and nails."

She glowered at him, and he used that second of distraction to stick her with the needle. Thomas squeezed her hand tightly.

"Almost done," William said, watching her concentrate on breathing in and out. He knew the medicine stung, but outside of her clenched teeth, she stayed as calm as he had ever seen her. "Sorry, Quinn. I really will stop torturing you after this." If he hadn't been studying her so closely, he would have missed her tiny nod.

"Awesome," Thomas told her as William taped a piece of cotton in place. "See, you're already getting better at this."

"Probably best if you avoid becoming an expert at it, though." William said, patting her softly on the shoulder.