Samandriel didn't want to be anywhere near the house. He didn't want to be near Derek or his slaves or any of the other wolves who were likely inside and more than aware of the new person smell nearby. In a way it was probably for the best that whoever was nearby and paying attention knew it. It stood a chance of making the woods that much safer for him.
He glowered at Derek but obeyed no matter the temptation the darkness of the woods and the low branches of some of the trees offered. The slave who saw to him wasn't interested in conversation, and frankly neither was Samandriel. She cleaned off his feet, pulled out bits of things that had gotten stuck in it and patched up the couple cuts he'd managed. Nothing nearly so bad as Derek seemed to assume. The look she gave him was something along the lines of 'don't be a dumbass' in the future, but she seemed to be dedicated enough to her work not to say as much. Nor did she ask about whatever relationship did or didn't exist between Samandriel and Derek who's particular smell was now all over him supernatural senses or not.
When she left, he flopped back on the porch and stared up at the stars, waiting for Derek to come back as he scratched idly at his stomach, t-shirt bunched up a little where his hand was and other arm tucked under his head. This far back, it'd definitely take Mitchell a while to get there and Samandriel was finding more and more that he really didn't particularly mind the time with Derek. Who knew, maybe the wolf would one day decide to be less of a cock tease about it.
"I had a dream," he said once he heard Derek's footfalls again. "Just the barest snippet of one. My brother came to visit me in it, pressed his forehead to mine and said I'd be whole again soon." Not likely, of course, no matter how much like a message and not a dream it'd felt. He knew vaguely where his grace was, but had no idea how he'd go about getting it from wherever he'd fallen in the first place.