Lydia caught the man as he slowly crumpled through her door. She had been pacing the floor, peering out the window at the rising red in the sky. When she smelled smoke, she realized that the city was on fire. She had spent the past several days collecting healing herbs and her drying racks were full. If the wind drove the fire this way, the cottage and its contents would be at risk. In preparation to relocate, Lydia had packed a basket with necessary items, magic and medicinal which she had just placed inside of the door when she heard a great boom. Opening the door, the cloaked man felt into her arms<br/><br/>She stared at the soot and the burns that covered his face, but most of all she stared at the feline ears and the face that was oddly handsome but flat like a cat’s as well. His short reddish hair gave the illusion of a lion’s mane, but yet was the hair of man. Lydia’s mind was having a little trouble absorbing what she was seeing to be true. Shaking her head, she pulled him into the cottage, glancing about to make sure no one was pursuing him. If they had been, they would have seen him disappear into thin air.<br/><br/>Once inside, she removed his green cloak, setting it aside and returned to assess his injuries. Cuts, and burns, some bruising, he had been badly brutalized and beaten. She ran her hands over his lightly muscled body and knew he was lithe and fit. On occasion, she had seen some of the humans who were kept by the nobles to entertain them with fighting in a ring. These men had bulging muscles and broad chests. She wrinkled her nose. This man, on the other hand, made her want to continue to run her hands over him as if she were petting a cat.<br/><br/>“He’s hurt.” She scolded herself. “Concentrate.”<br/><br/>Slipping a pillow under his head, she tossed a quilt over him and went to build up the fire. While she worked on making medicine, she chanted spells of healing under her breath. When she washed off the worst of the wounds, she noticed that some healing was already taking place. This one was not without power himself, she thought. Once his wounds were clean and bound, she prepared a decoction of echinaechia and willow bark. Sitting next to him while it steeped, Lydia sang a little child’s tune under her breath as she held his good hand.<br/><br/>She hoped he lived. She was glad he had thought of her in the midst of his trouble. A smile crossed her face. She hoped he stayed and she damned the nobles for destroying peace and hope. The smell of smoke grew stronger and she prayed to the goddess that the wind would shift to send the fire away. Lydia knew she couldn’t move him in  this state of unconsciousness.<br/>