The hamper was too deep.
Pip tried to climb inside and tipped it against Ysabet’s knee. The pigeon beat its good wing, and for a moment everything was feathers and feet. Mara caught the rim.
“Floor,” Ysabet said. “Put it on the floor.”
They moved to the bath room, away from the tiles. Mara shut the outer door while Ysabet crouched over the cloth. Pip followed by dragging its bad leg. It kept trying to put its pouch against the pigeon, though the wing made the shape impossible.
“Not yet.”
The creature pushed beneath her elbow. Its skin felt colder than it should have. She had never felt it cold before.
She set her right forearm across its path and inspected the bird with her left. Not a neat break. A shallow cut ran beneath the shoulder, where a tile edge or splinter had caught it. The feathers had hidden most of the blood. The wing itself could fold, though not comfortably, and the pigeon cried out when she guided it close to the body.
Mara brought water and scissors.
“Someone’s gone for Chaska,” she said.
“She has work.”
“Someone went anyway.”
Ysabet clipped the fouled feathers clear. It was clumsy with one good hand. Mara held the cloth, then the lamp, then the bird when Ysabet asked. Neither of them talked about the spear beyond the wall.
Pip pressed one forefoot against Ysabet’s wrist. Another fine toe slipped beneath the lifted cloth and rested against the pigeon’s bare, warm shank.
The cold opened inside her.
She was suddenly certain there was a hollow where the bird’s warmth ought to have been. Her stomach lurched. She nearly tightened her fingers around its chest before recognizing the sensation from the moth.
She drew her arm away from Pip.
The room returned. The pigeon was breathing, hard but regularly. Its eye followed Mara’s hand.
A feeling was not an examination. She made herself look again.
The cut needed cleaning and the wing needed protection. Beyond that she would have to wait. She washed away the grit, stopped the bleeding with folded linen and made a loose support that held the wing against the body without restricting its chest.
Pip watched every movement. It did not try to bite the cloth. That restraint cost it something; its jaw opened and closed, and its feet kept shuffling forward.
At last Ysabet moved the bird into the hamper. This time she packed cloth along the sides, making the floor shallow and secure. Pip lay beside the wicker with its pouch turned toward the lower openings.
The bird quieted.
Outside, Edris was arguing with someone in a low voice.
Mara went to the door. “You’re still here?”
“I need to speak to Mistress Orre.”
“She is occupied.”
“The structure may be dangerous.”
“The structure was a roof before you touched anything.”
Ysabet lowered her forehead to the cool edge of the bench. The room rolled slowly, then steadied.
Edris called through the door. “The growth should become inert. Keep people away until sunset. Please do not attempt to cut it.”
Should. She held onto that word while her pulse hammered in the bent fingers.
“What did you do?” she asked.
There was silence long enough that she thought he might have left.
“An old recognition was invoked.”
“Did you know it would hurt?”
“I knew it might provoke a strong response.”
“Did you know it would hurt?”
“Yes.”
Mara’s breathing sharpened beside the door.
Edris went on quickly. “Not this response. The infant form should not have had access to such a pattern. It has developed faster than the surviving descriptions suggest.”
“It has a name.”
“Yes. Pip.” He said it carefully, as if pronunciation were something she might weigh in his favor. “I have physicians. I can send one.”
“An animal healer?”
“A physician familiar with sacred ailments.”
“And will he bring another ring?”
“No.”
She looked at the creature lying against the hamper. One leg had drawn up beneath its flank, the fine toes curled inward. There was no blood on it, no visible break. The rest of the body seemed to have shrunk around the new eyes.
“Leave anything you know about feeding it with Mara,” Ysabet said. “Then go.”
“I cannot advise adequately without—”
“Go.”
The male guard murmured something. A carriage door opened. After a while the horses moved.
Mara stayed at the door until the wheels had turned into the lane. She came back with a paper folded once.
“Chalk, clean soft clay, some salts,” she read. “Nothing about how much. Nothing about the pigeon.”
Ysabet took the paper.
Chaska arrived breathless with Lilt behind her. The sandray stopped at the bath room threshold, too broad to pass the half-open door, and Chaska squeezed around her.
“What happened?”
Mara answered while Ysabet watched Pip. At the word spear, Chaska glanced back into the yard.
“That’s bone?”
“I don’t know what else to call it.”
“Can it do it again?”
Ysabet looked at the folded leg, the emptied folds, the trembling that kept returning though Pip lay still.
“I hope not.”
Pip lifted its head at the movement of her hand. She put her palm down near the hamper, but did not ask it to touch. The mouse stirred within its pouch. A tiny nose appeared, then vanished into the warmth.
There was still warmth enough for that.