“Alera, trust me. I won’t be able to eat unless—” He inhaled sharply,
and his neck and jaw flexed in an effort to suppress a groan. “Just get
me whatever we have, now.”
His expression banished my indecision, and I hurried to our supplies to gather every plant and herb in sight.
“What do you need?” I asked, sitting beside him and fumbling through the mishmash in my lap. “How about this?”
I examined a container and read the label.
“Will belladonna do?”
“That’s a poison, dear. I’d prefer if you didn’t give me that.” Even with his ghastly injury, his dry humor survived.