Mottle offered Jiang her shoulder while blood ran down it.
He hated the answer that deserved.
"I can find the false bell," he said.
Ilex pulled herself upright against Pava's screen. "Then we fly close enough for you to change it."
Pava tapped the splint. "That knee cannot hold a saddle."
"It does not have to. Mottle holds the saddle."
"That sentence explains the condition of both of you."
Mottle stepped over Ilex and lowered until the saddle's near side touched stone. Her wounded wing stayed tight against her body. The uninjured wing opened enough to shelter Ilex from the arch rain.
Ilex laid her hand flat on the scarred leather. "One flight. Then you choose the ground."
Mottle answered through her throat and remained down.
