Kaqir's exuberance was quickly tempered by the sight of the Glen. [i]Gods above[/i]. It was nothing she couldn't fix, of course, but the fact that they seemed to have carted him across such wild roads with an injury like this... well, it couldn't have been pleasant, to say the least. His voice was too tight around his thanks, all scratch and scrape and—no. It would be fine. She tipped her head in what she hoped was a reassurance. "You're welcome, sir. This should only take a moment."

Pressing a talon to his chest, she took a deep breath.

Bone and blood and sinew screamed into her touch. His ribs were thoroughly cracked—though whatever broke them had the decency to leave him with a clean fracture. A direct blow, and a strong one at that. He certainly looked the fighting type. Who [i]were[/i] these people? A noblewoman and her guards? Her gaze caught on the Iriad. They looked far too interesting to mix with high society, even in some place as open-minded as the Ascendancy. And the fellow Tekeri clearly had enough of an understanding of magic to be familiar with Life practices. Perhaps a group of bounty hunters?

She shook the thoughts from her mind. She was getting paid to heal, not investigate. It didn't matter who they were. 

Closing her eyes, she smothered the urgent cries of his pain receptors. He didn't need to feel what was to come. That was a step you only had to miss once. Diagrams crumpled in her head, fresh ink on old paper. She'd operated on very few Glen, but their anatomy was still familiar, if a bit more mammalian than she was used to. Her notes were messy but memorable, and that's what mattered. The anterior chest cavity of a Glen was much sturdier than that of a Tekeri. There was no need of coaxing, just command. Her magic seized the marrow, stretching it to the severed fragment and twisting inside. That helped fuel the shell of periosteum, lengthening the ribcage back to its normal size. His lungs seemed to be unharmed. It was almost eerie to hear their rasp without a pulse between them.

Fortunately, his lower ribs fared better than those in his upper half. Some minor contusions along the muscle and inner bone, but nothing that couldn't be fixed with some expedited tissue cleaning. His heart, which was nestled in [i]this[/i] set of lungs, beat healthily.

Exhaling slowly, she awoke his deadened nerves and withdrew. A few lingering cells tugged at her attention: scattered scars beneath his cuirass, burns curling across his arm, old bruises yellow beneath his fur. They weren't things meant to be healed, though—if he had allowed their presence this long, they were a part of him. Memories. Warnings. Badges, maybe. 

She met his eyes and smiled. "There we go! You should be all healed up. Do let me know if anything still hurts."