Private To entertain whimsy

[Dove]

She arrived here around a fortnight ago, in wet, ragged robes, withered feathers falling in her wake. Clutching nothing more than a small pouch with a few baubles in it worth more than she could ever possibly attribute to it. Her voice was broken, and sprained, trembling like a leaf. The rooms were full that night, but the pitiful state of her welfare was enough to tug on the heartstrings of the innkeeper and his wife to let her stay in the loft. For the first few days, she kept to herself- coming only to eat what little she could swallow. The innkeeper's wife often checked on her in the evening, just to make sure she was alright. As soon as a room opened up: she was quickly ushered in.

They've had many guests over the years, but this one was certainly a unique one. Although she kept herself covered up, her pale features could be seen from across the room. She hardly raised her voice, and hardly had an ill thing to say- if she spoke at all. Just quietly enjoy the wake of warmth that the fireplace provided, her dark gaze flickering in deep thought. People believed her to be a spirit, some even warning to get her out before she brought ill fortune. But their child, entering their 5th summer now had other ideas. Their shy guest seemed to be more than happy to share a smile for the child when she tugged at her robes. Over time, she picked up the moniker of 'Dove'. And 'Dove' she stayed.

Over time, the mystery of 'Dove' was eventually shared with the kind souls and their excited daughter. She was a healer. She liked to sing. It became a small ritual to 'greet the sun' every morning, and in return for their generosity, Dove paid for her room with her knowledge and services. Dove was looking to 'find purpose'. Something no one had a really good answer for. Most likely never will.

And not like fate really followed an agenda anyways, as today showed. Quietly drinking some tea, Dove and the innkeeper's wife were discussing possibly entering the services of the church. Her gentle spirit and gifts could truly help the world, an idea she was entertaining when the door burst open, and in charged the child, covered in a layer of dirt, a bit of sweat. "Doveee! There is hurt again! A lot of it!" The mother smirked, before kneeling over the counter. "Now sweetie, you can't keep having Dove kiss every hurt you have- you don't even look hurt!" she exclaimed. But the child shook her head. "Not ME." she announced indignantly. "Out there!" she pointed. "There are people hurt out there!"

A silence. Dove's gaze flickered to both the child, and the mother, and slowly moved from her stool, looking to see what possibly she could be referring to.

 

[Roki]

A trade wagon rolled fast through muddied road and mist. All jostle, rumble and bump as the mule cantered on.

"Hold the wound steady, Roki,-" Syr Lefelen grit his teeth, sucked ragged breath down through clenched jaw as pain paled his face, and a cold sweat ran down his brow. "Try and see the rivers of the body, your weave, a dam," he managed. His hand over where the arrow shaft still sprouted, the blood stymied by the moon elf's minor shroud work.

Roki, wide eyed and fearful, kept his hands over the wound in a dying man's side. Breath a struggle to keep steady as he felt the shroud twist and turn beneath the palms of his hand. A gash through the leathers. Deep and angry where the brigand's blade had cut.

A hard bump of the wagon jostled the wounded, and the supplies there with them. A sack of grain, ties slashed in the raid, spilled over. Golden berries of wheat dashed across the blood soaked cart bed.

Concentration broken, the blood from the sword-wound spilled the quicker. Roki worked himself back to it. Curse and anger there beneath it all. He pushed out a breath as their wagon rolled through. Snapped gestures with fingers and wrists as he whispered words beneath his breath. Almost prayers that came the heavier with each syllable that passed through tusk and tongue.

"Come rest, cold winter's touch, come still, ice across the lake, to take away what pain finds its way here," he pushed out. Felt the cold fog fall from his mouth. Felt the bleeding slow as ice slowed even the fastest currents.

The wagon driver called out for aid. For a healer. For anyone as they drove up the town road.

 

[Dove]

As small villages do- there is a few standing, their gaze focused on the cart, the mule bleating. Dove quietly shuffled forward, one small step at a time, tepid and cautious. A shudder ripples through her shoulders, barely noticed through the commotion, a beating heart acting as a heavy weight as she follows the child, who- very confidently, is walking with both of her hands folded, fearless and bold. "See Dove? There are hurt people! They need help! They need a heal-her" The small hiccup in enunciation breaks her from her thoughts for a moment, glancing to the child.

The child of course, isn't able to smell the scent of iron as they approach the cart- nor concerned about the bit of wheat that was stained red that had fallen to the streets. The child tries to lift herself to see over the cart, her green eyes just barely made over the edge, before a pale hand gently pushes her down again.

The bits of fabric that wrap her slightly lift at the cool presence. Her brown gaze surveyed the knight, a strange, plum-haired man. Her hands curled into her robes, before she finally chirps up. "I am a healer. Let me look at the wound."

A bit clumsily, she pushes herself onto the cart, and kneels to the injured man. Both hands hover for a moment, pausing, before she lowers her hands on the cut.

Something distorts on her face, as if there is something constricting her chest, but with a forced breath, she.. 'pushes' through. Not too experienced in the sciences and practices of shroudweaving in it's factuality, she relies on her instinct and the lessons taught by her family members. Which is a strange feeling, especially in this part of the world..

"Esther, can you tell your mother to give me some honey and cloth?" she asked, before turning her head to Roki, round, brown eyes warm, but concerned. "Can you tell me what had happened?" Important questions. She can't really heal the wound if she didn't understand how deep it went.

 

[Roki]

A voice from the crowd, and the cart slowed to stop. Mule's cries sharp as jabs in Roki's ears.

"Focus," Syr Lefelen reminded him, calm and low, from where he sat. Back pressed against the wall of the wagon. "Do your best to block out the distractions,"

"R-right," the squire replied, mind still on the matter of the shroud twisted through the gap of flesh. The Sworn Knight's voice sounded slowed. Off. As if he had heard it under water. Whilst the voice of strangers, whispers panicked, full with a fear he felt too ready in his gut. In his spine. Ran its cold fingers up his flesh.

A scrabble up the cart wall. Lefelen level's his gaze to find the babe, green eyed and curious. Lips down-turned, he grimaces, and readies to tell the kid away.

Someone else pulls the child, and clambers into the cart. Half-near a ghost, with the traces of plumes and gold. Caused the knight's brow to pinch the more. Confused. A question caught on his tongue.

Felt the stir of the air pushed by feathers, before he heard the words.

"I'm a healer. Let me look at the wound."

He shift some, best he could. His own eyes, wide and hungry for what they might see in the bloody mess, still trained on his work. A pair of hands popped into view. There beside his own. A pressure.

He had learned about this. Feels the air in his lungs grow the heavier still. Just a moment. As if he had dove down further beneath the surface. A pop, like a hand grabbed about his wrist to yoink him up.

The weight felt lighter. The world's sounds the clearer, and his own body, half as cold.

Sympathetic weaving. They had called it in the Monastery. Where two weavers share in the burden of the work.

"Esther... " the newcomer, the healer, her voice almost seems to ring inside his head. "Can you tell me what happened?"

Roki licked his lips. Nods, goes on with the aid work. "Ambushed on the road," he starts. Sees through the memory of the attack. "Benli," he nods toward the wounded man, unconscious beneath the two of them. "Got hacked by a sword, its deep. We, Syr Lefelen managed to put some shroud into it, save he took an arrow, and now-" he felt the panic rise in him. He needed a second. Shook it off. "I've been slowing the bleeding, best I can,"

Was about all he could do.

 

[Dove]

There is a slow nod, blinking as the man spoke. Her head shuffles for a moment. Her brows furrowing, as if she was trying to shake or noticing something in the midst of a drunken fog. When her gaze settles back on Roki, she blinks for a moment, as if a question was answered.

The tips of her fingers touch the wound, closing her eyes. "It is deep, but- it can be worked with. We will need to work carefully. Starting from the deepest part, and working our way out." Around this time, the sound of eager altruism in a two foot package could be heard with a jar sloshing. "Dooovveeee! Dovveee!" Dove twists her head behind her to see the child pushing the items onto the edge of the cart. She stretched forward, the tips of her nails clinking against the jar, gripping the knot of rags with the other hand, and nods. "Tell your mother we will need a place to lay injured people. Can you go help her Esther?" she asks. "Absolutely!" And off she charged off, like any child with heroic aspirations.

She took a fabric, opening a jar, and dipping it in the honey, using two fingers to slide the extra back into the jar. She hung it in front of Roki, "This will help stop the bleeding, while I work." She carefully pushes the fabric into place, and breathes deep, catching the yarns of 'life' as she knew it, closing her eyes in focus. The drift of cool mist that surrounded the injury prompts a barely audible 'cooing' noise, and a soft ruffle of feathers, one stray downy feather falling from her hair to land on the bloodsoaked wheat.

Remaining dedicated, she continued to work, trying to make sense of the 'presence' that was involved in this. A quick glance from the corner of her eyes to the orckin. "Try not to panic. Your friend is in good hands. I have healed worst. With far less." A gentle smile followed her words. Thoughtful, and perhaps maybe trying to distract him. "What is your name?"

 

[Roki]

Each pound of the heart felt doubled. In its trouble, and in its rest. The cold fear that coated him, thinned as if it was a fog burned away by the sun's climb up the horizon.

It's deep, but- it can be worked with...

Doubts and worries still swirled the more. She could see what he could not. What he should have been able to. Things he had been lectured on. Taught. The thoughts wound into tighter knots, there at the base of his skull.

...working our way out.

Roki nod. "Ok," he said in a breath, slow as he gave in to trust. Felt, he could see it now. How they would close the wound.

Dooovveeee! Dovveee!

A child's voice pulled his head up. His golden eyes wide with surprise at the sound, and the face he found. Small as she was fearless. And the healer. Dove. How calm she kept through it all. One hand upon the wound, the other reaching out to grab the honey and rag. He felt warm bloom rush across his face as she dipped one component into the other. Hung the sticky mess for him to see. Explained the next step. He nod, and watched her lay the rag in. Close her eyes.

Some part of him dipped down like a hook. Felt something snag. His breath hitched. Felt the cold full again, run up his spine. Pushed out a warm breath there with the coos and the shift of down feathers. With his eye shut, he could better feel the flows of life's rivers. And see the lines of shroud there in them. Almost threads. He held tension with his weave, kept the shroud that flowed between three bodies steady. Fed where it was needed. Took where he could. To ease the work, and share the burden.

Try not to panic...

One eye cracked open and found her looking at him sidelong. "I- right, panic, no, no more panic," his face warmed again. Chords of his throat screwed up. "Roki," he said easily. "I, well, I didn't mean to panic," he just wasn't used to feeling so... powerless. He huffed. Nod again. "I trust you," he said firm in it, his fingers flexed the stronger, though his whole frame seemed just a tad softer. Eased by the healer. Dove. "I'm a bit of glut when it comes to shroud supply," he said with a hint of a grin. Almost proud of it. "So, take as much as you need," he just assumed everyone knew how to.

Lefelen groaned as he adjusted himself. "You feel it, Dove?" he asked. "The... sympathy in your weaving?"

 

[Dove]

She remains calm in this moment. She wasn't in danger, just helping someone who was. But yet, the weight, the mixture of.. something, entangling, or something.. how.. what- The other man's words suddenly pull her attention, her searching eyes glancing upwards. And they were mixed with confusion, as if someone had just claimed the sky was orange. She opened her mouth to speak, but.. she couldn't figure the right words to use. So her head turned back down to the wound on hand.

Roki's words also confused her too. Shroud supply? Taking it as much as they need? What were they referring to? The pressure still held, and she shook her head again, trying to free herself of the pressure to continue their focus. Perhaps, it is because of the tension of the orckin. Maybe that is the reason why she felt so strange. Which was odd, because usually navigating emotions required a lot more contact. Maybe they too could touch the heart?

Either way- she needed Roki to stay focused. The stuttering in their voice, the energy in their eyes. Tepidly, she lifted one hand, and cupped the man's, small, delicate, and pale in comparison to the trained wizard. A thumb massaged the top of his hand. She breathed in- breathed out. "It is okay. Everything will be fine. There is peace here." Energy would seem to ball at the tip of her fingers, before being 'pushed' into Roki. Feelings of warmth, of care, compassion. Security. The best hug someone could receive.

She isn't sure if it was effective, but after a moment, she let Roki go, and turned back to the man, removing a bloody fabric, and pushing a fresh one in. However, the work was doing well- The wound didn't seem as deep as it was before.

 

[Roki]

Lefelen scrunched his brow, and screwed tight his lips. He new confusion when he saw it. That did not mean the healer did not know what she was doing, not by any measure. But for the moment, it was best to stay quiet.

Roki put on a brave face. Confidence, right? Act it, until you could do it! Or, something like that. He just needed to- Dove's quick shifts caught his attention. His eyes wide as he watched her stare down at the red honey-dipped rag.

He gulped. What if he- She took his hand in hers and spoke. Words of calm, and words of peace. Warm words that eased his heart and seeped into his bones. Pushed in, through the tips of her fingers. A breath fell from his lips. Lungs emptied, he took a new breath and felt light as a feather.

"Thanks," he said with a blink, still in the wake of what had passed between them. Dove moved back to work, and Roki's eyes fell back to the work. He kept steady, the cold fear gone as he focused on their work.

She made it all look so easy.

 

[Dove]

She didn't seem to be bothered after that initial interaction, though seemed oddly satisfied.

Dove was not wealthy by a long shot, but love was something she had in spades, an overabundance that poured from her gentle touch from every interaction. To see it spread and offer comfort in a time of agency- there was no other feeling like it. Her hands continued their work. Another cloth plucked. A new one put in. More flesh mending back together. Plucked again. A new one. More mending. It took time. But before long, the two mages were looking at fresh skin, as if the wound never existed. The jar is pushed away, and Dove turns to face Roki, and Lefelen.

"He will be fine. But it is imperative that he must not move. I have put everything back into place. But his body needs to.. finalize it? I think is the best way to describe it. He should lay flat, and rest for a day. I believe the innkeeper will most likely have a place for them at this point." It was around this time, the innkeeper, as well as a few men from the village had approached the cart, confused, but willing to help. "He is right here." she nodded, scooting a bit beside Roki to let the men start pulling him from the cart.

"Roki.. it is Roki right?" Dove tapped her bottom lip. "Roki mentioned that you were injured as well. Do you also need assistance?" Her eyes blink slowly at Lefelen, awaiting an answer.

 

[Roki]

Quiet and full of wonder, he watched her work. Found curiosity after curiosity bubbling up in the warm waters of his mind.

Where'd she come from, being keen among them. How did she learn to heal? Did she always coo when she was doing this sort of work? How did-

The last peel of the sticky cloth pulled off, and fresh pink skin was all that was left of the wound Roki remembered looking so horrid. He had to blink just to make sure he hadn't imagined it. The strain of weaving dissipating some.

He will be fine... finalize it?

"Bond to it," he said without thought. Some bit of a lesson he had actually attended, bubbling to the surface. Wide eyed, he realized he was interrupting. Piped down went on listening to her speak. He nodded his understanding, and saw the villagers come by.

He set to help them move Benli, then sat back on his heels.

Roki.. it is Roki Right?

"It is," he said with a nod.

Roki mentioned you were injured...

Lefelen huffed a small laugh. "Just a flesh wound," he assured. "Arrowhead is still stuck in the meat of my thigh, didn't right have the means to pull it out as we were fleeing," he looked over the two younger weavers. "Bit of cutting and stitching should see to it, I can help it heal on my own... after some rest,"

Roki looked to Dove. Healing was heavy work. He could feel it in his gut. In his bones. Warm as he was from their first success... he could feel the strain from the effort there at the edges of his fingertips and toes. No where near exhausted but, was she alright?

She had to be, right? How else had she... done whatever that was. What he felt through her hands.

The villagers seemed full of worry too. Still not sure what had transpired. Yalo, the wagon driver, had hopped off the wagon, and explained to them all.

He was a trader, from the Elum. Had the rest in town on his way to make trade. They'd come across a broken down wagon. Slowed too near, despite Lefelen's warning. They'd been caught in a trap. The band was still out there.

 

[Dove]

Dove folded her hands patiently into her lap, nodding through the explanation.

It of course, matched Roki's hasty story, though was definitely a troubling one to hear. A tilt of her head, visible worry in her eyes. It looked like she may be in town for a few more weeks yet. Hopefully, the town would not run out of work for her, and she can keep her place in her room for now, until she figured out precisely what she wanted to do. Where she wanted to go. She rubbed her thumb into her fingers, looking down at them, as if she was expecting bad news.

She looked back up at them. "If you insist. You should probably join your friend inside. Perhaps one of the locals can get the news to the right folks, and maybe they can deal with the bandits while you both heal. At the very least- you both most be tired, and the reprieve can be helpful."

She crawled to the edge of the cart, sliding herself off and onto the ground. Her movements were slow, and careful. Slow enough for Esther to rush back up to her, and reach for her hand, which Dove gladly complied.

 

[Roki]

Lefelen nod to the welcome of rest. "My thanks for the hospitality," a dark rumble in his throat at the mention of the bandits. "I am Syr Lefelen, Knight of Anatheaum, and if they find those folks, I've means to join them," something in his eyes said he would go regardless of local assistance. "We'll be sure to rest before we venture out, you've our thanks, healer,"

Roki huffed. "Yeah, thanks," he said as he watched the young woman away with the brave little child. Moved to follow. "I uh-"

"Roki," Lefelen cut. "Quit your gawking boy, get the pack, you've a lesson yet,"

Roki shift his weight back, head turned quick, nod, his golden eyes looked about the cart, caught up in the mix of spilled grain, red blood, and a small feather, there with the lot of it. He hurried and grabbed up the pack. Knocked over Lefelen's sword that rattled and clanked against the wood of the wagon. He near hopped, bag in toe, and his eyes cut back to Dove. "You'll be alright?" he wasn't even sure why he was asking.

Might be it was the feather. There against the crimson soaked berries.

 

[Dove]

She paused for a moment, and turned her head over her shoulder back to look at Roki, both inquiring, but defensive. Glancing to her hands- one cupped by Esther. Was she already beginning to show signs of the strain she was processing? The hate that she had absorbed, and was manifesting in herself? Sharing love, and healing wounds, they were all part of a process. And hate- and the things that are caused from hate; they were a poison. Her eyes scanned her hands, her keen vision focusing on the small details. It was only the slightest bit ashy in color.

It was coming, but not yet. She could fake it yet.

Esther though, having seen Dove operate, and still infected with the kind of good light you only find in children, looked to the healer with a soft sympathy. "Don't worry Dove, I know you're probably tired. Let's go inside- and I will make you tea and take care of you!"

A small, muted chuckle between pushed lips, a tired gaze. Sure, why not? "I will be fine." she informed Roki. "Esther is going to take care of me."

She moved inside the building, guided by the little girl. Already, the wounded knight had been set into the room, the villagers clustered inside, and the innkeeper along with his wife, eager to greet the two knights and let them know of what they have done. Ask them what else they may need.

Regardless of what actions the others took, Dove and the little girl took another route. She was seated in a recliner, by the fireplace, and Esther went to work; Dove playing the part of sick patient while the child worked to play 'healer'. She wrapped a blanket around her, sloppy but loving. She hastily grabbed water. And of course, Dove complied to drinking it. She let the child sit on her lap, and 'feel' for her temperature, and rattle on about things she was going to do to fix Dove, and Dove of course, nodded with false excitement.

"You're doing so great, Esther, you're going to make a great healer one day!" Soft words of encouragement. Fatigue in her eyes.

This ritual would continue, until Esther hits a point where Dove has to 'sleep', and the child was going to watch her. Inadvertently though, all the excitement of the day had taken quite a bit out of the little girl: and she nods off on the couch, leaving Dove to her thoughts, looking a little more ashy.. a little more.. _grey_.

 

[Roki]

That didn't seem right. Had her feathers always been that color? Roki's eyes flit to the lone plume. How its tiny bristles stirred in the shift cold breeze of coming night. Silvered gold like moon's pale light.

"Am I missing something?" Lefelen grunt.

"No just, I mean, Dove,"

"No, I mean, I'm sitting over here, with an arrow in my gods damned leg, Squire. And judging by the day's performance, you could use a bit of practice,"

Roki's brows scrunched. He pushed out breath from flared nose and clenched his teeth. Nod. "Aye Syr,"

Lefelen shook his head. "Fish the surgical knives from my pack, the sutures, and the needle driver," Roki moved to the work. Fingers nimble as they sift. Quick to pluck what they needed, and set down the leather pack that held the tools. Unfurled it. Cold clean metal gleamed, and he plucked the tools out.

The procedure didn't take long. Hands used to scratching metal against metal, and shaving millimeters from copper and gold, made the cuts easy.

The blood was the problem.

A turn of the stomach, and a few grunts and hisses from Lefelen later, and the arrowhead was out. The x shaped wound stitched up. And in they went. Syr Lefelen leaning his weight on the younger man as they made into the Inn. "Well done, Roki boy," the older elf grunt as they reached the Inn.

Inside the inn, more was left to do. Syr Lefelen sat himself up and listened to what the villagers had to share. Thanked them, and explained to them what need happen next, and how he would take anyone willing, to root out the brigands who had set up ambush so near the town. How if they left such a band to sit for too long, they only invited more danger.

Roki tuned out. His eyes drawn to the warm glow of orange and gold fire light. The play of a familiar pair of shadows there before it. Esther and Dove. He felt himself smile. Thinking, how nice that all was, and how he could use a spot of pretend.

"For now we rest," Lefelen told the villagers, and bid them farewell. "Roki, help me to my room, would you?"

Roki's eyes pulled back to Lefelen. A nod, and he was quick to help him up. The innkeepers showed them the way.

---

"Are you always so calm under pressure?" came Roki's voice from way of the kitchen. Two bowls of soup steaming in his hands.

"Innkeepers had some ready in the back, I just, heated it up some, figured you might be hungry too," he said with a smile. Offered her a serving, hot trails of steam rising, and the broth clearly mixed. He would let it down upon the short table if needed.

"Not sure what exactly's in it," he eyed it suspiciously as he sat in the rocker some steps across. Sniffed at the bowl. "Definitely has onion though," he said as he let his eyes find her again. Smiled, in that way fools did when times were warm and quiet.

 

[Dove]

Her head popped up at the voice directed at her, a tired gaze glancing up at him. She looked noticeably pale, well, more.. 'ashy'. Grey, As if someone had dimmed her brightness just a little. There were bags under her eyes. Still, she wore it with grace, pretending that these features were always a part of her. And in a way- they always were. She understood the price she paid today to save someone's life. And she would happily do it again. After all, the only way to conquer hate, was with love.

Her held tilts to the bowl as it's passed to her, inspecting it carefully. She dipped a finger into it, before reaching for the spoon, and slowly bringing the warm broth to her mouth. It was a salty, savory, meaty flavor that she had grown familiar with, swirling the flavor in her mouth, and forcing it down her throat with a painful swallow. A repulsion sat in her stomach- but she ignored it. Her body needed this right now.

"It is a brew that they let cook over the course of the day. Usually, they'll use it as a side- and then it'll get put in jars for later use." she nods. "It means they must have something planned for the week. Probably.. something with beef." Her eyes glance up at Roki. Her gaze faltered a bit. "I lived a life that required that skill. Do not envy it, it will come with time, practice, and understanding."