Taming The Wolf

Chapter 11

Aoife guided Bran through the process of applying the paste to open wounds. As they worked side by side, she marveled at how natural it felt, as if they'd been doing this together for years.

A groan from across the room caught her attention. Aoife hurried over to find a young werewolf, barely more than a boy, clutching his side. Blood seeped through his fingers.

"Bran!" she called. "I need you here."

He was at her side in an instant. Together, they eased the boy onto his back. Aoife's stomach churned at the sight of the deep gash across his ribs.

"Hold him still," she instructed, reaching for clean cloths and her herb pouch.

Bran murmured soothing words to the boy as Aoife worked. She cleaned the wound with steady hands, pushing aside her exhaustion and the lingering fear from the battle. As she finished binding the wound, Aoife sat back on her heels. The room spun slightly, and she closed her eyes.

"Aoife?" Bran's voice was laced with concern.

She opened her eyes to find him watching her intently. "I'm fine. Just tired."

"You've done more than enough." Bran helped her to her feet. "Let others take over now."

Aoife wanted to protest, but her legs felt weak beneath her. She leaned against Bran's solid warmth, allowing him to guide her away from the makeshift infirmary. She stumbled alongside Bran, her body finally registering the toll of the night's events. The castle corridors blurred as they walked, her mind foggy with exhaustion.

"Where are we going?" she mumbled, her words slurring slightly.

"To my chambers," Bran replied, his arm tightening around her waist. "You need rest."

Part of Aoife wanted to protest, to insist on returning to help the wounded. But her limbs felt like lead, and even keeping her eyes open was a struggle. She let Bran guide her, trusting him to keep her safe.

They reached a set of heavy wooden doors. Bran pushed them open, revealing a spacious room dominated by a large bed. Aoife barely registered the rich tapestries on the walls or the ornate furniture as Bran led her to the bed.

She sank onto the soft furs, relief washing over her as she lay back. Bran knelt beside her, gently removing her shoes.

"You were incredible today," he said softly. "The way you tended to the wounded, how you kept your composure..."

Aoife managed a weak smile. "I just did what needed to be done."

Bran's hand found hers, his thumb tracing circles on her palm. "You did more than that. You showed true strength and compassion. My people saw it too."

His words warmed her, chasing away some of the chill that had settled in her bones. Aoife's eyes fluttered closed, the events of the day replaying in her mind. The battle, the wounded, the fear and chaos - it all seemed like a distant dream now.

She felt the bed dip as Bran sat beside her. His fingers combed through her hair, the gentle touch soothing her further into relaxation.

"Rest now, Little Flame," he murmured. "You're safe here."

Aoife wanted to respond, to thank him for everything he'd done. But sleep was already pulling her under, wrapping her in its comforting embrace. As she drifted off, she felt a sense of belonging she hadn't experienced in years. Here, in this strange castle with its werewolf inhabitants, she'd found a place where she fit.

Aoife drifted in and out of consciousness, her dreams a swirling mix of battle cries and soothing whispers. When she finally awoke, sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow across the unfamiliar room. For a moment, she lay still, disoriented by her surroundings.