"You.. drink this? Even if you.. hate it?"

Dove was not one to wear 'ugly' emotions often. Which was probably why it was extremely comical to watch here wear THIS one, one brow low, the other high, her nose twitched into the corner of her mouth, and her lips twisted in such a way. You could tell that the very emotion she was expressing was foreign to her features, and that just made it all the more funnier.

"I see."

Her ears twitch, at the mention of not staying still. Her eyes glancing to the ground in thought, as if tasting the fantasy.

The cursed brew still sits in her hand. She tries to sip it.. again, trying to see if there was wisdom in Vyn's word. Her face puckered again. No. No it did not. It didn't taste poisonous. Certainly tasted.. some sort of bitter. The herbs she prepared for medicine had a better aftertaste than this!

"I do not know if it makes the morning more honest. I fear that only the sun is capable of that." she mumbled. She looked to Vyn. ".. Is there.. some sort of.. medicine.. about this that I am not familiar with?"

At this point, Dove puts the coffee down, reaching for the bits of fruit. These tasted far better- and much more palatable. She did enjoy fruit. It didn't grow too well where she came from.

".. What is your role here?" she asks her tastebudless companion of the morning.
 
Vyn watched Dove's many faces with great interest. It felt like children learning to wink. With both eyes. Like it hurt. She was able to chain a laugh, but the smile wasn't as willing.

„We drink it.“ She wasn't sure how serious she should be. „Because some rituals don't need reason. And because it keeps your hands warm.“ Her hand resting on top of her cup. Flipping over every so often. An unfortunate bread in the oven.

Dove's next line broke the chain. She set the cup down clumsily, trying not to spill too much. One hand on her belly. She wasn't tryin to hold amusement from her voice. „Aye, Sun's honest. Coffee's cheaper.“ She pretended to be deep in thought before she continued. „It makes you awake. Gives you something to do while the breakfast cooks.“ She nodded to herself. „Some people would call that medicine.“

„My role?“ That was a more complicated question. „Today I'm your bad influence.“ But on a more serious note. „Usually a pathfinder. Not the map kind. The sort that walks far enough a head to see the ditch before we lose a wheel.“

„What about you? What's your role now that the sky's cleared up?“ Her hand went to pick the coffee back up.
 
Dove blinked, but- at least now, it made sense. Her gaze looked to the cup, still a little annoyed with it's taste. But if it acted as a stimulant, well, then it would have some uses. She guessed. There were certainly better tasting ones though..

That being said, watching Vyn break out in laughter seemed to cause a deadpan blink. She remained silent, as if she didn't understand what was going on. But, the subtle twist of her feathers flattening against her head was enough to indicate a bit of what was going on internally. Her gaze tried to avoid Vyn's at this point, as if somehow, letting the devahni's eyes stare back might reveal the slight bruising of her ego.

"So.. you are a.. scout." Her head shakes for a moment in thought, continuing to pluck away at the small treats that were set before her.

She pauses to think about how to answer that question. "I do not know." she states plainly. Her focus falls to her hands, flipping them back, and forth, inspecting them. ".. That is why I am travelling. Perhaps I will find that one day." Her hands fall into her lap.

"... Most however, are content to call me their healer or doctor however." She explained. "So that is how I usually make my way."

Her eyes squint, as if trying to conjure something in her that she.. typically didn't have. Perhaps as a slight bit of vengeance for earlier. "... I am very good at curing bad influences you know."

Well. She tried.
 
Vyn gave a long look over the rim of her cup. That was unexpected. She would accept it in stride. „Then I'm in trouble.“ Letting her in on a secret. „Curing me would take more than herbs. Might need a ritural. Fire maybe. Both even.“ The smile carried her into the next bit. „You'd make a good Elum.“

„We're big on walking. Big on not knowing. Most of us started with no idea of where we're going. Some still don't.“ She knew they were odd. But after so many years it felt correct. „But it's easier with a person next to you. Someone to know when you don't.“ She couldn't help herself. „And protect from cursed coffee.“

Her eyes went to the door.

„When you're ready, there's a whole camp of us out there. Someone's probably bleeding or stubbed a toe.“ A small break before:

„Might be the same person“ her eyes wide in horror.

She stood up and went for the door.

„No rush.“ And she was gone.
 
"..."

Dove's squint grew a little uneasy, before her gaze fell away. Dove's confidence was as strong as her grip. Which- evidently, isn't exactly that strong at all. Because really, she wasn't really all that threatening. Not really much of a menace either. She swallowed the line of thinking, before the downward spiral could manifest beyond what she cared for people to see. So she let Vyn continue, poking the tips of her nails. Letting herself grow more lost in thought- before she snapped her head up.

The mention of being 'protected' from the cursed coffee was enough to sour the little bird again. The range of emotion, watching her feathers suddenly 'floof', before pinning flat on their head, Dove remaining stoic- but the bits of her that were far easier to read providing far more entertainment. As she goes to stand, a few feathers fall out of their wake, ruffled out of their place. Then- and only then, did Dove suddenly turn the slightest tint of rose, probably the strongest bit of color the healer had worn since joining this merry band.

It spread across her face like a rash. She silently picked up each feather, clenching them tightly in each fist, peeking over her shoulder only to witness Vyn's departure, releasing her emotion in the form of a forced sign.

Well. When wasn't there a place that didn't want a healer around? For now, it served her purpose. And it would make sufficient payment. Hopefully, there wasn't too much out there for her to handle.
 
The door would creak behind her as she made her way outside. The rain had passed. The mud did not. Sunlight played tag with her eyes, running between wet canvas and freshly strung up laundry. The cookfires were still going, their smoke remaining lazy.

„Stir it twice, but not again
Lest it wake the ghost of Glen!“
„It's Gallen!“
„Shush!“
Music was out of tune, but so was the song. They worked together well.
„Bones for broth and goat for meat,
What you drop, you've made to eat!“

The last bit was accompanied with a wet whack, as someone pushed yet another hand away from the pot.

She wouldn't make it three steps before some would yell out.

„Dove, yeah?“ A lanky youth with curly hair and a missing sock came jogging up, boots making the mud dance. „Vyn said you'd know about rashes. Do you think this is cursed or just irritated“ Held out a scarf wrapped hand. His serious expression betrayed that he already knew what the answer should be. „I know where to get coffee.“ And quieter so it would stay a secret „Not the bad kind.“

Behind him, someone was already waving. A short woman with unevenly braided hair and a baby slung over one hip. „Dove! Could you tell me if garlic works on ghosts? Jem says no, but he always says no.“

A third voice interrupted the song by the stewpot and yelled out: „She's here? Ask her about splinters!“

The Road was long and often dull. Which meant gossip traveled fast, and strangers never stayed strange for long.

„You snore prettier than Jem!“ Marcy yelled out in passing without slowing down. On a mission of great importance.

„Welcom to the camp!“ The sockless boy added finally.
 
The scene was a lot to take in, the sharp scent of of a sweet meat, laden with salt, onion- perhaps a few spices, some she knew the name of, others that she didn't. Colors which splashed out in front of her, but with more focus, revealed patterns in fabric, mix-matched and patched, the silhouettes of the wagon members standing a stark contrast. Dirt clings to the edge of her robes, her hood stubbornly defiant as she tries to pull it over her head. Her pale form divisive and lonely in the midst of so much variety.

She wasn't used to such un-sterilized environments. But to be fair, she wasn't used to much.. really.

Upon hearing that someone wanted to look at a rash, she turned, eager to look and assist. Though, the joke didn't land. A shift of her brows being the only indicator of her annoyance. Dropping a few centimeters more upon the mention of coffee. Her name was called again, and she twisted her head towards a woman who.. Garlic? Ghosts? She opened her mouth to explain that spirits were not her domain- but suddenly, splinters?

And she snored??

She turned back to the boy with a weak smile. Whether it was an unwilling joy, or the signs of overwhelming anxiety, to be determined. "Let me look at the rash." she sighs, defeated, carefully unweaving the fabric around the hand. She blinks a few times, the thumb of her hand bravely, but delicately touching the rough, blotchy texture. ".. This looks like a plant oil caused this. It can be cured with a quick ointment. Do you know, or remember what you touched? What it looked like?" she asked.

"You wouldn't happen to know where I may be able to mix a poultice or two, would you?"
 
The boy looked deep in thought for a second.

„I mean it looked like greens. You know. Green.“ He blinked unhelpfully. „It was growing on a tree, but wasn't in the tree. Just kind of...borrowing it?“ A brief pause. „I was hungry. It smelled nice. Might've been the bark tho.“ He kept scratching with conviction, like that might help jog the memory.

Remembering something he could help with, he lit up. „You can set up on that crate over there. Next to the stewpot. No one's using that right now. Except the ghost. But he's more bark than bite.“ The grin showed all his teeth. „You'll hear him if he minds.“ The lady didn't appear to have much of a sense of humor, but that never stopped him before.

„You need anything? I can get Jem's stuff. It's mostly labeled. 'Cept root stuff. Root stuff all looks the same.“ He hesitated. Then, with real hope: „Should I stir the stew or would that be...eh..unsafe?“
 
Dove looked at the child, and nodded gently, a soft, although uneasy and welcoming smile. Already, she was beginning to suspect what he might have touched.. or ingested. And if that was the case, he was going to be extremely, extremely uncomfortable soon. And well- Dove loved children, and he was being so kind and respectful, despite the small jabs that were encouraged by the demon-woman.

"Thank you, I think that will work just fine. For now though, let's not touch anything else until we deal with this." She gently tapped the rash. Tenderly, she guides the boy to the cart area he pointed out, dusting the small area. A small chill rushed through her, was it the ghost? Her feathers ruffled a bit. Hopefully not. And if it was, hopefully it didn't mind. She had good intentions. Surely that was a good price to pay right?

Looking around, she found a spare bucket that looked to be just collecting the rain. That would suffice. She walked over, reaching for it, slightly groaning as she took it's weight, ever the light and frail thing, and stumbled over to the area, putting the bucket on the ground. She took a bit of her robe, ripping a piece of it, dipping the fabric into the chilled water, and encouraged the child to kneel with her.

Like a doting mother, she gently brushes the rash, and around their face, cleaning the grime off of the boy. "We'll get this taken care of. But first, we have to get the oils off. Some plants may smell nice, but they're actually quite poisonous- trying to bait people. And it could spread. Don't worry, you'll be alright." Her eyes were warm. "But next time, it might be wise to learn from the woods what it could be."

"Like you mentioned, everyone calls me Dove. What is your name?" she asked.
 
The boy slowed as she dabbed his rash, very aware of how hot his ears were all of a sudden. He stayed perfectly still. Except for his mouth.

“Wit.” And then in confidence. “Short for Wit’s End, cause that’s where my ma said I came out.” A wide, proud smile. “Could be worse. Could’ve been Accident.” He sounded like he had more to say, but someone further off called out.

“Is she healing you or blessing you?”

“Doin’ both! You can feel this medicine. You can smell your sins leaving!”

“Did they take the rash with ‘em?”

“Oi! It’s a curse! And we’re working on it.” He slowly started squirming as the ointment did its work.

A soft thud next to them as someone dropped a basket full of herbs and dry wraps. No words, just a polite nod from an older woman who melded back with the crowd immediately after.

A pair of kids ran into each other and slowed. Looking at Dove with great curiosity as if she might sprout feathers (well, more feathers) and fly off. A small whisper. “It’s the ghost doctor.”

“Is not.”

“Is too. She talks to ghosts and eats floor cake.”

“Does not!”

“Marcy saw her.”

“Don’t worry about them. They’re nice.” He offered encouragement. “’Cept Gallen’s ghost. He still owes Jem three shirts and a chicken leg.”
 
"Wit." she repeated, with a soft chuckle under her breath. What a name. Though, sometimes names do not need to be complicated.

She did rather like being called 'Dove. It was much better than her old name, in her opinion. Though, she didn't know what a dove was. She was told it was a bird, much like herself, and she would know it when she saw it. Hopefully, that day comes then, she was indeed very curious.

"Well Wit, it's not a ghost." she explained. "But you did make some plants very mad." she nodded.

Her eyes close, and her hands gently caress with the tips of her fingers. A warm heat starts to grow at the tip of her fingers, a soft glow following her touch. It almost looked as she was simply burning away the rash- Wit feeling nothing more than a gentle tickle, as her fingers spread, the light crawling to every bit of the rash. It only took a few moments before the rash was cured. The white glow disappeared into the skin, travelling up the body.

Hopefully, that should purify what he had ate.

Seeing the basket of herbs made her eyes light up. "If you want to know what good plants look like, I can show you right here." She kneeled down next to them, and started to peek, to see what sort of items were bought to her.
 
Wit leaned in close as Dove began sorting the herbs, but before she could explain anything properly, the two other kids came up beside him. The shorter one, a small beastkin boy with greying fur, tugged on Dove’s sleeve, staring intently at her hands.

“Can you make pillows?” Dead serious. “Not out of ghosts. That seems weird.”

Wit rolled his eyes. “She’s not a ghost doctor. She’s normal. With, you know, powers.”

“I’m not a doctor either” the other kid had to explain. “But I could totally make a pillow outta leaves.”

The interaction got cut short as Wit poked into the basket. “What’s that? Looks like it’s got fur.” Leaning in even closer. “Smells like old socks. Is that for curses?”

The herb in question, rat’s kiss by Elum tradition, was all jagged and brown with little pale fuzz on the edges. Not really for curses. Usually for digestion and goats. To the world, it might be known by a different name or purpose.

A voice came booming from behind.

“Jer! Jer! Jeremy, get right over here! I’m at my wit’s end with you!” Wit winced like he’d been struck. “That’s me.” A small bow, not yet fully practiced “Been a pleasure, Dove.” He vanished into the crowd with all the speed of a boy who knew he was in trouble.

The other two didn’t move. Big eyes. Hopeful grins.

“So…can you show us the one for making pillows?”
 
Dove blinked. She reached for the herb in question, feeling the texture, and thinking to herself. She wasn't too familiar with herbs outside of her region, but it looked quite a bit like mullein- which was a common herb used for a variety of topics. The edged leaves, the peachy fuzzy nature. This is probably a leaf she would have had no issues consuming on the spot to test. It didn't have the markers of a venomous plant. Probably didn't taste too good though. So, this is the information that she relayed.

"This is not for ghosts." she nodded confidently. "Usually, plants like this are used for making your joints not feel sore. Or for helping you breathe- especially when you are all clogged up with snot."

She put it to the side, as there were a few more things she could do to confirm her hunches, but she needed to test it for herself. She could then make some teas or some ointments that can be shared. She bet that would make sufficient payment for the Elum.

As she watched the now-dubbed Jer dash off, she blinked, and turned her head to the other two children.

"I do not know how to make pillows." she frowned. "I think you would need to find a tailor for that- not a healer." she explained.

Did this camp have a tailor? She didn't know. They would obviously know more than her.
 
„Jem makes pillows out of rice.“ The boy confirmed, upset to learn that Jem was a tailor. The other child leaned in to whisper something to the boy. He seemed to brush her off completely. Something like a snort to accompany the complete disregard.

„That's who told me.“ She finally had a voice. Finger reaching for the treeline. „About ghost pillows.“ She added, thoughtful. „And pillow ghosts.“

If Dove's gaze followed, at first there was nothing. Just trees. Last bits of mist. Usual quiet curve of green and shade.

But something moved. Not fast. Not loud. Just off.

A shape where it shouldn't be. Tall. Narrow. Then gone.

Forest tucked it in silently. The child didn't seem bothered. She was already poking at the basket again. „She said they used feathers just like yours.“

There was nothing there. But if one looked closely enough, one could see how birds refused to perch in the small area around where they last spotted it. „Said not to tell the grownups. Thought maybe you don't count.“

Footsteps in the mud. Confident. Familiar. Vyn.

Something slumped under one arm. A coat, maybe.

„Found your way around?“
 
She was perplexed. "Then, perhaps Jem is the one you need to speak with. I unfortunately do not know much about ghosts.. or pillows. Or any combination of the two." She smiles, trying to stave away the disappointment of the children. "I just know about what heals.. or hurts a heart. And what heals, and hurts a body. And I promise, there are quite a few things that do that!" she chirped, taking one spiny finger, and gently poking the children each.

As she looked to where the child pointed. A pause. She saw nothing. Yet- a familiar, strange creeping that shivered up her spine. She turned over her shoulder to look behind her. Then to the side. As if she was being watched.

The feathers on her shoulder, her head, gently ruffle up, just ever so slightly. Soft. Involuntary. Her mind held not a thought to her predictment. Her intuition however- that was another story.

"I am not sure."

She turned to glance up towards Vyn, somewhat unaware of her own actions. "... Do you have a 'curse' that needs to be rid of as well?" she asked.

One blink, two blinks.
 
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