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Rabies hisses as Screecher examines its leg, clearly nervous. The two of them had just gone on their first real adventure, getting a bounty to kill some wolves that had been bothering a small village.
It wasn’t even the wolves who had hurt its leg, Rabies remembers. It tripped over a hunter’s trap and dislocated it instead.
“I’m gonna have to set it,” Screecher says, glancing up at it. “It’s gonna hurt.”
“I can take it,” Rabies huffs. The Kenku has only had basic training in healing magic, not nearly enough to mend its leg without it hurting.
While looking reluctant, Screecher nods, grabbing something from his bag. It’s an old flute, one that he claims to have never really used after getting his new one, and hands it to the Kobold. “Hold onto this, break it if you have to.”
“What?” It asks, tilting its head. “Why?”
“It’ll keep your mind off the pain. I think.”
Very confident in that, aren’t you? Rabies thinks bitterly, but nods.
It grips the flute, and Screecher rests his claws on its knee. Without any warning, he sets it back into place, and Rabies screams, the wood between its hands splintering in two. It hits the ground with its fist, jaw clenching. The pain is still there, even though Screecher is already done, rubbing Rabies’ shoulder in a shitty attempt at comforting it. “It’s done, I promise. I can find someone to help with the healing once we get back to the village, okay?”
“Fucking... warn a guy next time, will ya?” The Kobold groans, glaring at him without any real malice. “You’re gonna have to carry me.”
“I planned on it,” Screecher replies, scooping it up. “And, uh, sorry.”
“It’s... it’s fine. Let’s just go.”
“Okay.”