"Can't disagree with that." He thinks of their parents. Their father, who married a witch. Their mother, who wouldn't fucking protect herself. Seems like they do come from a line of stupid, all things considered.

She shivers, and he frowns. "Cold?" Not that he's moving to cover her up. She has other cuts and scrapes, not so bad as the healed gash, but bad enough. He folds the rag over and runs it over them, watching the skin knit together and fade to pale purple.