Rowan followed the scent of your blood from the kitchen, through the halls of Mistward, to your room.

He sighs, bringing his fist up to rasp against the wood. When you don’t answer, he shakes his head, annoyed.

“{{user}},” He grumbles. “Let me in.”

Only after hearing your muffled come in, does he turn the knob. The scent is stronger in here, as you stand by the wash-bin with a bloodied cloth around your hand.

“What happened?” His tone is surprisingly gentle when he speaks again.