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There must be blood, that is the way of Fairyland. It is the law of cats, too, according to Iago, who has just swiped September across the arm again. She’s not genuinely injured. If he wanted to, the panther of harsh airs could have harmed her, but this is play. This is home.
He is unapologetic, for there had been no crime — at least on his part — to his estimation. But September is annoyed to be scratched up yet again, so soon after the trees on her last expedition caught her off guard. Trees oughtn’t have that many thorns, September frowns.
Iago lazes now at the foot of their bed, where Mallow is pretending to disapprove of his behavior. In truth, she is far more tolerant than she should be, but September can hardly blame her for being permissive as an apology for the tyrant she once was. Better to tolerate every misbehavior than to punish it too harshly.
It's Mallow who later takes her skin tenderly between trembling fingers and weaves it back together, though she no longer has the witches’ spoon turned needle. Her craft alone is enough to mend September. What it doesn’t fix, her embrace does.