Ren's pale ears instantly flushed a bright, mortified scarlet. He cast a fleeting, hesitant glance back at Heena on the table, bit his lower lip, and quietly ducked out through the curtain as told.
Once they were alone, Old Lady Lin grabbed a thick, folded linen pad and slipped it carefully behind Heena's neck, lifting her head just an inch so she could swallow without moving her pulverized spine.
"Drink this," the old woman ordered flatly, holding the steaming black bowl to Heena's mouth. "It has heavy poppy husk and stasis-clearing roots in it. It tastes like rot, and it won't cure you overnight, but it will dull the nerve pain in your back so you stop clenching your teeth to dust."
Heena didn't argue. If someone told her horse urine would stop the feeling of a hot iron grate pressing against her shoulder blades, she would have drunk a bucket of it. She parted her blistered lips and forced down the thick, scalding, violently bitter decoction in slow, agonizing swallows.
