Perhaps it was because there was a desire to keep things accurate, and truthful. Maybe it was a moment of lucidity in her personal nightmare, brought to life. Or maybe, it was because she heard Vyn say something she'd never thought she'd hear her say. Or really, anyone say. And maybe, perhaps, there was just a tiny bit of her that craved the validation of safety, of knowing someone wouldn't forget her that could soothe a beast if only for a moment. If only for a moment.

".. No- we can't go get them." Dove quietly responded, still not stirring from the ground. Her voice oddly cold. Quiet. Fatigued, as if the clouds had offered all they could to her dried skin, now covered in a dusty layer of dust.

"They.. they probably wouldn't believe me." She pushed herself, crossing her legs, and leaning into herself, gently rocking against her knees. "And- even if they did- I don't think.. I don't think they could leave the rest behind.." More mumbles. "Besides- it.. It doesn't matter. If they knew I was alive.. oh- so much would go wrong. Only two people know I'm alive- the rest, the rest think I'm dead. And.. I should be.." Her face distorts again, the porcelain mask shattering. "I should be.." she repeated. "But.. But I didn't die. I didn't die- and now, I'm here, wishing I did."

"And now, I get to die slowly." Her fingers scratching at her wrists, at her collarbone. An anxious twitch. "To the shadows I've worked so hard to keep dead. And- I didn't.. I didn't ask for them to begin with."
 
It may have been the other woman's innards cracking open – but it all felt sour. Because Vyn wasn't a person you gave up in front of. Not while there were still options left. Something to do. To try. So no – she couldn't accept Dove simply describing dying as slow and inevitable. Wouldn't entertain the idea that the bird should've already been dead. Simply wasn't built to handle it. But then again – she never did handle loss particularly well. Suppose it was the same for those that were yet to pass.

„Well, you're not dying on me.“ Certain as a woman could be, without having any idea what she was talking about. „Whatever we have to do.“

„You don't have to tell me what it is. Not yet.“ She nodded to herself. „Just tell me what help you need and we'll see to it.“

Wanted to curse her family and the shadows and whatever messed up past tied it all together – but couldn't find the words. And probably for the best. Why spoil warmth with rage?
 
Dove's voice weakened. Mainly, because Vyn didn't understand, and, of course Vyn wouldn't understand. Who would? Who could? Was her experience shared with someone else out there? Did someone else understand? And yet- here Vyn stood, thinking it's just something that can be bandaged. Patched up, like a broken wheel on a wagon. Smack it good with a hammer! All better. But- the world wasn't like that. The heart. The mind. They weren't like that. And the more she learned, the more complicated it got. Love- wasn't quite as white as she thought it was. But she also didn't know what else it could be.

The only thing she could do is show Vyn where it hurt. Because she couldn't put it to words and tell her. And Vyn did say that she didn't have to. She scoots, and curls towards Vyn, placing her head neatly in her lap, stealing away her body greedy like a rabbit seeking shelter in the cleft in a hill. She unbuttoned what remained of the top, not revealing- looking up at Vyn. A wince. Her thin fingers wrap around Vyn's, massaging each joint briefly, a silent plea for forgiveness. And she took the hand, and placed it between her two breasts.

Such an intimate gesture stained with tragedy, because it wouldn't take Vyn to realize immediately that something was off, with the flesh beneath her fingers. It was smooth, and glossy- a sharp disruption to the normally silky, soft that made up Dove's body. Beaches of pink and white fade into a thick river of a deadened red, dry and cracked, at least the width of 3-4 fingers, that trailed from the start. A gaping canyon of a wound, now closed, but still fairly fresh. Years had not tried to erase it yet.

It turned out there was truth to what Dove was saying. She should be dead. A wound like this in battle would have killed any soldier on the battlefield. Yet- here she was, her eyes closed, trying to suppress the emotional pain it caused, the pain that was robbing her of her ability to speak, throttling her like a hungry python.
 
Vyn'd always thought that it was mental scars Dove carried. But now, under her fingers she could feel the wrongness of it. Scars weren't new. Seen many. Caused more. But the size was concerning – in a sense this really was a mortal wound. There were healers around the world who could heal this and worse. And Dove was a healer. So why was she so convinced that a deep enough wound needed to mean death?

Wounds scarred over, skin tougher than before. Bones became thicker. Joints stiffer. No, scars didn't make you weaker – simply less fluid. Suppose that was a type of death to the Elum, but not a true one. You still got to live. The death of your step wasn't the death of you. And they may have impeded movement, but stiff wasn't weak. Merely brittle. But what do you say at holding a hand over someone's raked heart? You say nothing. You keep your damn mouth shut and try to hold it all in place.

Her other hand found Dove's head and fingers traced both feather and hair.
 
When was the last time she was held like this?

The top of her head tickled with a prickling warmth that seemed to rather soothe. In a way, letting this wound breathe, seemed in a way to make it lighter. A soft cooing noise, fatigue now taking hold of her frail, tattered form. Her eyes fluttering a bit, as the fingers twisted into the skin. And, Vyn was warm. She forgot that. And it felt lovely. A part of her screamed to run- run away.

But the other part of her was simply too tired.

So, her fears would have to simply find some way to settle themselves for now, as she turned onto her side, one hand resting on Vyn's knee, the tips of her finger pushing into the fabric.

"Thanks." A soft squeak.
 
Never did get used to the cooing. It reminded her that Dove was part bird, and she wasn't used to treating birds with such care. They were simply something you kept as a pet. Or something you ate. Or ran away from. But birds were never people – and that was a new way to look at them now.

Was worried that she'd say the wrong thing when she spoke. But it called to her anyway. They could spend a long time bunched up like this, but Dove needed to be able to stand on her own at some point. Because there might come a time Vyn wouldn't be around. And she'd seen what happened last time.

„Thank you, for keeping my hand warm.“
 
There is a pause. A quiet.

There's a bit more shuffling, and she found herself pushing into Vyn's arms further, keeping her wings as close to her body as she possibly could, as if she was trying to share more heat. And perhaps, maybe, just maybe, let something here.. just.. be.

".. Thank you for finding me. And helping."

Confirmation, that Vyn did indeed do the right thing. She braves a stare, a blink. "... You're the first one who I ever told, you know that?" Her shoulders sink a bit. "... I feel much.. lighter. It hurts. A lot. Still. But- not as much." Her other hand reached to cover Vyn's, moving it up to feel her heart beat, a gentle thrum in her chest. "See? Much slower now." There was a spark of something, soft, and flighty. But perhaps with enough tending, like any fire, the bit of happiness she was feeling could grow.

But carefully.

Always carefully.
 
„That's the deal, Ghost doctor.“ Don't you remember? „We find each other.“

Dove's heartbeat had steadied. So Vyn hadn't messed up yet. Always difficult navigating interactions with the afraid. Because you could never be sure it wasn't you they were afraid of as well. If Vyn could read minds, she would've. In that moment. Just to know that what little she could offer wasn't tying weights to the little one's feet. Just to...bah.

There was no need to wallow. Things were alright enough. Asking for them to be perfect was just asking for trouble. And she had plenty of that already – no need to push it.

Always wondered what made her special to Dove. Wasn't that clever. Or kind. Hells – even Jem was gentler. It just didn't quite connect for her. And perhaps it wasn't a thing she was supposed to understand. Not all things needed to be known.
 
Her eyes flutter for a moment, the earthy scents that have now become painted with memories of the pathlight strong in her nose. Grounded. Warm. Comfortable. Occasionally, her thoughts would dare to turn it's attention inside itself oncemore, to think about the wound and the tale it told, and she would wince. Only to bury her head into Vyn's shoulder and tried to closer her eyes and will it away. The rhythm kept it's beat with the ground beneath her. And in that- perhaps that was the lesson she needed to learn, for now.

".. We do."

A pause. "One day, I need.. to tell you. The whole thing- it would.. It would make so much sense. I think. And, you might think me weak, but- the Road doesn't wait, and doesn't care right? It just decides if I pick it or the Road. And maybe- that's why I'm here."

But then, a more grounded, pouty frown. The kind of frown she got when she was getting a little bratty. Whiny. Needy. "... Or perhaps I'm thinking too much. I'm tired. And a little hungry. And- I'm so dirty! I need a bath, there's dirt in my feathers and on my face- everywhere!" she lamented. "I think I'm ready to go back."
 
Yeah, dirt.

But she didn't press it. „Right.“ Patted the bird's head and got ready to get up. „Up we go.“

Looked to the wingstrap beside them and wondered who in the camp could fix it. It didn't look fixable – but not like Vyn was an expert on damn wingstraps. Didn't even entertain the idea of those things existing until she saw Dove's. But it made sense, as all new discoveries did – once enough time had passed. They had a few leatherworkers around. And she could get Jem to ask, he wouldn't question it.

But it wasn't the strap that worried her – that was merely surprising. It was the self harm. Vyn wasn't a stranger to it. She believed a person could hurt themselves for a purpose. Self-inflicted, but useful. Had numerous lines inscribing her own skin for all the thing she'd done. But it never felt like hurt – it had merely been spending herself when the moment demanded. That what you told yourself, after enough nicks and cuts.

She would have to take a better look at that fucking card later.
 
She lingered for a moment, greedy for the warmth, hungry for the summer. But seasons don't last forever. For now, she had to do was savor the fall and survive the winter. Even if somewhere deep inside, she wished it'd numb her and take her away. She gets to her feet, a bit of a stagger, a gasp of air, shock on her face, surprised at her own fatigue. She blinked a bit shocked, holding her arms out like a startled raccoon, before her wings flapped enough to put her upright. "Goodness, I think some limbs fell asleep there!"

In the distance, she squinted, and could see some of her feathers scattered, like the wind. An uneasy laugh, nervous, well aware of the perpetrator of such white, fluffy dander that covered the earthy landscape.

"Oh, they're going to have so many things to say to me tomorrow.." she sighed, lamenting.

She took a few cautious steps, before confidence that the ground wasn't going to fall away was able to guide her to an easy step. When she reached a certain distance, she stopped, to check for Vyn, seeing if she would follow, waiting. Because that's what they did right? They'd wait for each other.

She liked that idea a lot.
 
And they would. It would be the hottest gossip come tomorrow. Because in a community this small, everything was news. And then it would be forgotten just as quickly, because there'd be another new thing. The Elum had never learned how not to gossip, but they did learn how to never make it matter. Some of them stuck, sure – like how you didn't leave Drunk Anny alone with booze or how you didn't expect Wagonslow to be quick if his life depended on it. Those weren't really considered gossip anymore. Repeated enough to make their way into rules of the Road, the quiet ones that only their people knew.

It hadn't been difficult to keep pace with Dove. Her movement as sluggish as back when she'd gotten drunk. Well, Vyn got her drunk. But, you know – same difference.

„Yes. And then they'll talk about something else come day five.“ Still remembered when Jem got embarrassed. No one could point a finger at what exactly they'd been laughing about. Enough time had passed, and that too was behind them now.

She would occasionally slow down to look if she'd missed anything important on her way over. Skiped the feathers. Those felt strange to take.
 
".. I just need to stop doing it- so that it doesn't become a habit."

There's a truth behind the joke, which led to a grimace that curled her nose with the scent of it's honesty. Because- she has done this twice now. And she didn't want to keep doing it. Surely- there was a way to break the pattern, break the thinking- be free. Just be free from the weight. She hardly used her birthname anymore. Yet- why did she still call herself Lisani when she was talking to herself in her head? Her eyes closed a bit in thought. Thinking about the consequences of tonight's actions, how they would play out into the upcoming days.

She knew it'd pass. But that didn't still make it any more embarrassing. And then, of course there was the matter of.. "Dusty!" she gasped, smacking her cheeks with her hand. "Oh! Poor thing! I think I threw him when I got all riled up!" Her steps quickly hasten, to see if she could perhaps get back to the campsite, and rescue her hat. Provided it stayed put. And.. provided it wasn't mad at her. "Ohhh- poor thing. He might think I hate him now! You don't think I hurt him do you, Vyn?" Ah yes, Vyn, the ultimate expert on ghost health in her eyes.
 
Oh, the hat. Figured that in her attempt to collect the scraps she forgot a whole thing. Road had a sense of humor like that. But she wasn't worried – if Dusty wanted to be found, it'd be found. And if not – well, they just needed to wait until it got bored. Nothing ever truly stayed lost. Some things did get forgotten, but that was a different concern. They could probably remember where those were, if they could remember them at all.

Vyn near panicked when looked to for advice on this. She barely understood the relationship between the hat and the bird „Dusty will be fine.“ If it was a child spirit, it'd be less mad in a week or two. If it was an older one, it may not even be mad by the time they found it. Could never accept calling Dusty a he.

„Might need some time – but I don't think there's any hate.“ And that was her expert opinion.
 
"Ohhhh"

The bird continued to worry and chirp away, a mixture of genuine concern, the rest perhaps an effort to escape the moment that she had inadvertently created. "Poor thing, I truly, truly didn't mean it. I wasn't mad at them I was.. I was.. just.." Her fingers twitched again at the tips of her fingers. "But, maybe he'll understand, I did- I did tell him once so maybe it'll connect the dots?" she offered. Vyn's advice seemed so sound and resolute, heavens was she so lucky to have someone so wise in the way of spirits like her!

When they have arrived to the site, everyone had dispersed, a pile of ashes and abandoned pain left in it's wake. Dove's feathers (or, at least, what's left of them.) raise for a moment, a frown sitting on her face. "Sometimes, I wonder if I am crazy- if I am simply seeing things or feeling things. Or if they are in fact actually there." The energy was noxious and poisonous. Dove almost struggled to get closer- giving a quick scan to see that the hat was indeed gone.

"Ohhh.. he must be mad. I better leave something out for him tonight.." she sighed. "But, I have to sleep. I think. Thank you again, Vyn. You truly are the best."
 
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