Mu Qingyi moved first. He took a folded hide from the basket and wrapped it around her wet shoulders. Feng Yiren grabbed the water gourd, uncorked it, smelled it quickly to make sure it was clean, then held it near her lips but did not force her. Hu Baiyu shifted her again, letting her lean against his chest while his huge hand covered the back of her head like he was shielding her from the whole world.
"Drink a little," Mu Qingyi said softly.
Lin Huahua took two tiny sips, then pulled away. "I am really fine now."
"No, you are not," Feng Yiren snapped at once. "You are pale. You are shaking. Your ears are flat. Your tail looks dead."
Lin Huahua's eyes widened with instant offense, and even though she had almost drowned, her pride still returned enough for her to look down at her wet tail.
"My tail is not dead."
"It looks dead."
"It is wet."
"It looks dead and wet."
"Feng Yiren!"
