Jason and Ylva rushed out of the back room the moment the elder opened the front door. Thalion stood there, barely upright, his silver hair matted with fresh blood and his frail body covered in deep gashes that still oozed. His breathing was ragged, and one arm hung limp at his side.
Jason's first thought was how the hell he had managed to slip through the guards outside with such injuries. But this was an elf with access to magic. There was no telling what he could do.
Ylva was cautious too, her claws slightly extended and her ears pinned back. "Thalion… you look like shit," she muttered, staying close to Jason's side and keeping one hand on his arm.
The elder werewolf didn't hesitate. She stepped forward without a second thought and guided the injured elf inside, her old hands surprisingly steady as she helped him to a low wooden bench.
"I haven't seen a male elf in ages," the elder whispered, her cloudy eyes wide with shock. "Sit. Let me look at you."
