He presses the syringe into the crook of your arm, his pink eyes narrowed in concentration. "Don't squirm. I can't treat you if you wriggle like a worm on a hook."

Your lips press into a thin line as there's a pinch in your arm, a flash of pain as your body absorbs the medicine he's carefully distilled all this morning. Granted, it's miles better than the bitter herbs you have to use on yourself, but it's still not pleasant to feel the liquid work its way into your system.

"There."