T here was only so much a buck could take, surely, Reed thought. He'd had a brief moment of terror at the figure that had come into the clearing that night, more a shadow than not. Stumbling, mud on his skin, in his mouth, and then the familiar rise of his brother's anger, as hungry as the storm. At least Tempest would send them off with a bang. And then the sweet embrace of darkness, and maybe Mother Night waiting at the end. Instead, he wakes to pain and unfamiliar scents. One hand fisted, the other reaching for a knife that wasn't there. Panic! Craft pushing out while he tried to make sense of his surroundings. People he didn't know, but Cervini, not horn-less, and not the wolfmen. Below their fear and his own Craft, the scent of his brother, not so faint but not present, either. It was enough to focus him, to allow the healer back close enough to finishing mending, even though he heckled and snarled with a critical eye. No work as trusted as his own, after all. And when he at last found himself free of fussing hands and worry-scared psychic scents, what did he find? Not Tempest, not his damn fool brother. Just his scent, and some doe, and the lingering pain of tender, fresh healed skin. So he'd followed it back, barely keeping from turning antler on his 'escort' and his little wife. His brother had apparently taken it upon himself to go on ahead, of course he had to catch up to him, could they not see the urgency of it? Who knew how the healers had bungled him while Reed had been asleep. Fortunately, if there was one person reed would be able to find in a crowd, through rain or sleet or damnable herd-scent, it was Tempest. He'd been firmly redirected for awhile, something about 'his lady', 'the Queen', leaving Reed to pace tracks in the grass and sharpen his knives to fine edges. Eventually, Tempest was released from however he was occupied, and Reed was determined not to let him slip through his fingers again. The fact that he'd elected to smoke was just the icing on the cake of irritation. "How was my trip?" He growled, kneeling at Tempest's side, cataloging his hurts. His face . Damn idiot. He breathed deep, focusing on his brother, on the grass, on the here and now. Pulled his healing Craft into his fingers to ghost against Tempest's skin, light as he could get and still smooth the swelling down. Too on edge for anything serious, lest he tear his brother up again. Not that I don't want to, he groused, eyes heavy, dark. "Long, irritating. Boring, seeing as someone " he went for a poke to Tempest's cheek "decided to up and leave me with strangers." He bared his teeth. "Otherwise it was just great." He sat back on his heels, eyeing bruised knuckles and itching to get a good look at whatever else his brother had decided to carry around. narrowed eyes swept back up, frowning harder. "No," he grit. "I haven't seen her yet. And I couldn't care less how she looks, or looked." Harrow'd never been as interesting to him as she had been to Tempy, and it was likely Reed's own disinterest in her that had kept him from her attention. He wasn't sure how long that would last. "How can you just sit here and think about her and not them ?" He waved out in the general direction of the lake people. "How can you sit here and smoke and not be a little suspicious?" Ass met grass with a thud, legs bent and wrists on his knees. Attention drawn in a hundred directions, tracking sounds, shadows, shifting scents. Someone had to keep watch, after all.