***Cassius***
I was reorganizing the herb shelves when the shop door burst open with more force than necessary.
"Caelan!" Silas's voice, urgent. "I need help."
I turned to find him supporting a young boy, maybe eight or nine years old, whose hand was wrapped in what looked like Silas's shirt, already soaked through with blood.
"What happened?" I asked, already moving toward them.
"Finn was helping me in the workshop," Silas said, and I could hear the guilt in his voice. "I told him not to touch the saw, but he..."
"It's not deep," the boy insisted, though his face was pale and his voice shook. "I'm fine, really, I just..."
"Sit," I directed, pulling out a stool. "Let me see."
Silas helped the boy onto the seat, and I carefully unwrapped the makeshift bandage. The cut ran across three of the boy's fingers, not deep enough to have hit anything vital, but bleeding heavily the way hand wounds did.
