His arms and chest were toned, a fact distracted by the numerous, prominent, silvery scars that crossed all over his body. He mumbled slightly, shifting under her touch.
A look of resigned concern crossed her face, and her fingertips brushed his collarbone as she sighed. "I shouldn't be so rough on him."
Lark sighed, bringing the syringe over to them. “I suppose,” she allowed. “But he can also be an ass sometimes.”
"Probably within an hour. I've administered some treatments that I know work, so he should be less out of it when he wakes up."
Rowan's eyelids fluttered open about an hour later and he groaned, sitting up slowly, his hand to his head.
