"I can help with that as well, making ointment" he offers, not yet wanting to leave this bed or this space, but knowing at some point they will have to. Because she is right, and the memory of the blistering sun taking aim at his body is still quite fresh.

"Although it is tempting to allow myself to burn again, if only for the...aftercare."

He wouldn't.
Maybe just once.

His eyes fall to the 'drink' on the table, and he thinks of earlier.

"Does the midwife...does she know of your wings?"