A/N! I am so sorry this took so long; my keyboard broke and I was no longer able to type the letter 't'. It was then I figured out how crucial the 't' is.

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to IWABABY, because (s)he –no lie- reviewed within three minutes of my posting chapter 2. And, I'm no longer asking for 'mandatory reviews', because I've got enough to last me three more chapters! (Yes, I try to get two reviews a chapter.) Also, I'm always worried that Danica is OCC, so please, tell me if she is, in any sentence. I love concrit. (Actually, I love reviews in general. ::hint hint nudge nudge::)

Disclaimer: Yes. Hawksong is mine. ::gets a lawsuit slapped on her by some random lawyer::. Or not…

Last time: "Danica Shardae," he stated, his voice raspy from sleep and the wound.

I was a bit frightened now; but I couldn't let this stop me. I tried to remember what I had told my mother; that he would be grateful for my help and not kill me the instant he awoke.

"Yes, I'm here," I said. My fear for my life, strangely, did not outweigh my fear that he was still hurt. "Are you alright?"

He grimaced, then said, his voice still raspy, "Water, please?"

Oh! Well, that was dumb of me; I should have kept some with me at all times. I got off the bed, grabbing the cup off the floor that I had used before, and filled it with cold water in my bathroom as fast as I could.

In my haste to go back, my bare feet caught on my bathroom rug, and I was sent flying, and not in the normal way. The cup clattered at my feet and landed ten feet away, in my bedroom. The water had already started soaking that rug.

I sighed dejectedly, then scrambled to my feet to collect the cup and refill it. I made my way carefully this time, making sure to avoid the rug.

I sat down carefully on the bed, so not to disturb him too much, then said, "Do you need help?"

He shook his head and tried to prop himself up, to take the drink from my hands. He moaned in pain when he tried, falling backwards, and I rushed to catch him. The cup fell onto my bed, spilling on my covers.

"Sorry," he muttered, still tensed, pain written all over his face. At that point, I heard a knock.

"Come in!" I called, hoping it would be the servant with Betsy's drink.

It was. A small sparrow came in, putting the cup down on the chest at the end of my bed. Her hands were shaking and her eyes were wide, taking in the scene of a serpent on my lap. "F-from the h-h-healers, Sh-sh-sh-Shardae," she stuttered, then ran out the door.

I refused to let myself worry about this, instead I reached behind me and grabbed the steaming mug. "Here, drink this," I told him, moving him so he was in a better position to drink. I kept him on my lap and held the bowl steady while he gripped it tightly, drinking gratefully and eagerly.

I took it away after it was about halfway gone. "Stop for a moment," I said softly, "Your stomach'll get sore." Gods only knew what would happen if he threw up with the stomach wound he had.

He nodded, and then closed his eyes, slumping from his semi-upright position that I was helping him with. The simple task of drinking had exhausted him.

We sat there like that for a few minutes, his breathing loud. He wasn't asleep, so a few minutes later, I said softly, "Gregory? C'mon, you've got to drink the rest of it now."

His eyelids fluttered, and, at once, I felt awful. He was so tired; I should have let him stay in his halfway resting spot. But he needed to drink this; it would help. Or it could poison him… No, there was no reason for it to. Serpiente and avians must be alike in that one way, that we both needed rest and fluids when we're sick. Those two needs must be basic.

Or, instead of guessing, I could just ask him. His eyes were now open, his face drawn and tired, but he looked determined, prepared to drink. "Gregory?" I asked him. "What do you normally need when you're sick?"

He took a deep breath, then said, "Water. Food. Sleep." Each word was separate, but I could see some of his strength returning. I wasn't sure if that was because of his determination, the broth, or both.

I nodded. Good, I hadn't killed him yet. I helped him drink, once more, and some color returned to his cheeks when he was done. Well, some color; he was naturally pale.

He had recovered enough strength now to speak. "Thank you," he repeated, then said, "You know who I am."

It was a statement. I had called him Gregory, so he must know that I knew him. My mind raced; what was I supposed to do now? Did he remember being on the battle field?

"Gregory, right?' I didn't want to add the last name.

"Yes," he said, closing his eyes for a moment, then opening them again. "And you're Danica Shardae." This was also a statement, and I swallowed hard.

"Yes," I said. What else was there to say? He could easily bite my thigh; his head was leaning on them. I felt my pulse pound and settle into my wrists, beating rapidly.

"Don't worry," he said, almost sleepily, but his spark of determination to stay awake was still there. "I'm just curious; why?"

We both knew what he was talking about. Blunt little snake, wasn't he?

"Well…" I thought. I had explained it to my mother, my best friend… why couldn't I explain it to the victim himself? No, it was rather hard to think of him as a victim. Even laying there in my lap, unable to drink by himself, he still seemed strong.

"Well," I started again, "I've seen many die because of this war. I was too late to save my own brother-" I saw him wince slightly, and I wondered; was it because of the pain, or had he been one of those to plunge the knife into Xavier? "-and the next person I saw was you. I suppose you weren't lucky enough for me to leave well enough alone," I said, teasing weakly. I was still waiting for a sharp pain in the leg.

"Thank you," he said, his voice raspy again.

"Water!" I muttered, mainly to myself. I let him off me, once again, to go to the bathroom and fill up the cup from the basin. Coming back, I noticed that there was something on his shirt.

Blood, I thought. Moving onto the bed gracefully, I pulled him back onto my lap, saying, "I've got to check your wound. Wait one second." I lifted his shirt gingerly, and looked at the wound in horror.

(A/N: I'm not that mean.)

The wound was oozing where my stitches were, overflowing with pus boils. Yellowy liquid could be seen under the thin coverings. I couldn't help but gasp; it was obviously infected.

"Oh, no, no, no!" I muttered angrily. "No, no, no, no!" I repeated myself, looking. I didn't have the faintest idea how to deal with this.

"Rei!" I called, anxiety coloring my tone.

Rei burst in; although my cry was not fearful, there was no doubt in his mind that soon Gregory would attack me.

Before he could ask, I said fervently, "Get Betsy, get a healer, get somebody!"

He didn't ask, thankfully, instead turning to the hallway and repeating the orders to Karl. I heard the beating of wings as Karl flew off to the Healers Wing.

"What is it?" Gregory asked, rather calm for someone whose wound was –perhaps fatally- infected.

It was his body, so no doubt he could tell my lie. I went with the truth. "An infection." I didn't tell him how bad it was.

He seemed to be able to tell anyway. "Is it bad?" I was wrong before, he was extremely blunt.

I shook my head. "Nothing horrible." My voice sounded fake, even to me.

"I do appreciate it, you know," he said, almost conversationally. He had such mood swings! "Not letting me die on the battle field. I doubt everyone took kindly to you taking in a Cobra."

It was then when I heard Karl come back, Betsy and her second healer, Libba. They both looked a bit surprised at my company, but they hid it well. I silently blessed Avian reserve.

"What is it?" they asked, and I motioned at the long wound.

"It's infected."

They nodded knowingly, then went over to his side. Libba took something out of her waistband and poked one of the pockets. Gregory gasped in pain as the boil exploded, leaving a thick yellow pus in its wake. I grabbed his hand, and he held onto it as if it were his anchor to get rid of the pain.

"Talk to me," I said, willing anything to get his mind off the pain as Libba popped another one, dabbing a green paste onto it afterwards.

So he did. He first told me about a necklace that his mother had gotten a few days ago and his sister, Irene, had used. Apparently Irene had lost it and hadn't told her mother yet. Prodding for more questions, he told me about Irene, and then the rest of his family. I asked him about his life, his childhood, anything I could to make him concentrate on something else.

It wasn't over soon enough.

There you are, loves! Read and review, and Irene'll come into the next chapter (or two).