Hecate moved, careful careful, and yet deliberate in her touch. The throat was a more complex creature than a cheek, but it was a rare thing that mystified Hecate. Although immortal, her own throat was as organic, as biological as Luna's, and although there were mysteries in the universe that even she did not understand, the human throat was not one of them. She pulled at the strings of the world, rearranging reality around Luna so the injuries were gathered away from her. First, they settled for a moment in Hecate's own throat, and next, rolled off her, pulled away as the moon pulls the tide.