“Again?” the medic at the adventurer’s guild asked.
“Yep. Really.” the crow said, slumping back in his chair. It was the fourth time this year he was placed on the injured reserve list. Being black-feathered, near silent, and capable of flight had plenty of benefits, but the natural fragility of avian bones had its drawbacks.
In this case, it wasn’t even true combat that had taken him out. He had been flying by a dragon, trying to get a sense of the creature’s habits, when the thing flicked its tail and happened to knock the crow out of the air and to the hard dirt below. A few things broke, and while he was able to quaff a potion to get back into enough health to walk back to the guild, he would need some proper medical care to be ready to go back out into the field.
“It’s lucky you’re good at what you do,” the medic said. “We’ve kicked people from the guild for needing less than this.”
“I know,” replied the crow. “But thank you all the same.”
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