"Rook knows we went out together. I don't need a lecture on getting the favorite assassin beat up by Darkspawn."

It was a wonderfully technically true lie, and Davrin didn't expect Lucanis to buy it for a moment. But maybe it would be enough the Crow could pretend to accept the lie and unruffle his feathers a bit over being fussed over.

The skin was there, healing. It could use a bandage to protect it, maybe, if they were heading out again soon. There was no reason to mess with it, but Darvin traced the edges of it again, anyway. It could have easily, very easily, been the end of the Crow and the birth of a new Darkspawn. Something that twisted at the core of the elf yet seemed to be barely of notice to Lucanis.

"You're lucky. You can delay it with blood magic, if you can pay that cost. But there's no treatment. No cure. Just death or the Calling."