[for Koralia Barkirtis and @elletta ]

After the events of the past few weeks, Ber could say that he was far more familiar with the medical section of the military wing than he ever wanted to be. Brekker’s transformation of Wulfbrand had landed him in the infirmary for about a week, recovering from a severely dislocated shoulder, wounds along the outside of his right arm from where the claws had hooked him, cracked ribs, and the mother of all concussions, alongside general bruising and other smaller-but-related injuries due to getting thrown across the throne room by a werewolf and colliding first with the wall, then the stone floor.

Ber would not recommend the experience to anyone. Except, maybe— no, not even Woodwick.

That whole affair was, naturally, what had him walking down the now familiar hallways toward the infirmary. After weeks of using his arm without issue, Ber knew that his arm was fine, but the medics still wanted to follow up because… He didn’t know. Maybe because they enjoyed being a pain while healing other people’s pain. Regardless, the appointment had been made, and he had no choice but to follow orders. Stepping across the threshold, Ber cast a glance about the room, idly wondering if Haider was around given that she was training here, presumably under someone’s supervision.