Lachesis was exceptional at listening, but speaking? Not so much. He was good at thinking sympathetically, but not actually being about to voice his thoughts. As a healer his job was simple: assess the situation, diagnose, and treat. He did his work quietly and efficiently.
The ghost wanted to be able to help Lilya and understand her past, but his feeble attempts were floundering. He felt guilty for not being able to help her further than a few herbs, for it appeared there was more going on then a few reoccurring nightmares. His lips dipped into a deep frown as he studied the blue-eyed agouti, ears pressed flat against the back of his skull.
This was when she announced that she should take her leave—and he panicked. The healer shook his head softly, dismissing her words. “No,” he started, his frown cutting deeper, “you don’t have to.” And she didn’t. Despite being a private wolf, Lachesis wasn’t opposed to the company; he actually enjoyed her presence. “I wasn’t sleeping, either,” he admitted, his head tipping to the side. “You're more than welcome to sleep here, if you’d like. Sometimes it’s easier to fall asleep in the presence of another.” He also did not want her to be alone, but he wouldn’t admit that aloud. XIX had always found it easier to fall asleep when Anastasia, Capella or Bastet had been around—even the twins. He was restless; perhaps her presence would coax him into slumber, just like the herbs would do to her.
stick with those who stick with you