Though the gloves had been uncomfortably tight around his joints and the wounds between his fingers stung awfully by the end of the day it had been worth it to remove the choking weeds from certain sections of the garden. He reassured his master afterward that he was perfectly fine and calmly tended to his wounds himself without sparing a second thought on the matter, but his master hadn't commanded him to submit to his attentions either. “It is nothing,” he insisted, his mind and his body obviously of two minds on the matter as he eased forward to take the werewolf's hand with his injured one. “I have endured far worse than this in the past.”
Alcuin was convinced there was nothing that could have been more painful than his convalescence after the incident, laboring for each and every breath as if it would be his last through the searing pain in his ribs. There was simply no comparison.