His eyes widened just a fraction. Worry pulled at his mouth. She looked almost too tired to it. Half disgusted at that.

"No, I, I was more in awe than anything," he said softly as the fire crackled and hissed. Looked down at his own soup. Set it down and moved closer to her. Put his hand beneath hers, made to lift the bowl, but only if she'd let him.

"I meant no offense by it," he said soft.

"Let me help you?" he asked as he motioned for the spoon, unsure how else to do it."Like you helped me, when I needed it," he kept his smile as the fire went on burning beside them. "Dove, right?"
 
Dove's eyes lit up, worried. "Oh, no- no. That's not what I meant. And I am not offended by it." She allowed her hands to be guided, savoring the heat from his hands against her cold ones. Normally soft to the touch, her hands felt rough and textured. "My calmness comes from years of seeing.. things." she explained. "I would not wish it on anyone, especially not an aspiring soul like yourself. That is all I meant."

She sighs. "... When faced with adversity, we often want to respond back with the same energy. To fight fire, with fire, persay. It's.. an instinct." She breathed. "However, to truly conquer barriers, we have to try to consciously fight that instinct, while summoning the energy to bring forth water for the fire. Antidote for the poison. Love for hate."

"It takes a lot out of you, and it takes a lot of practice, and I find that sometimes, it's not something that can be taught in a book. Only time can teach and give you the space to practice. In my case, I feel it is rushed, and perhaps sometimes, stains me."

There does seem to be some sort of.. pressure, perhaps discomfort? But Dove relents the spoon, the bowl, complying with Roki's desire to help. Perhaps he too wished to pretend.
 
She'd seen things, and learned to answer hate with love.

He pondered on the words a long moment, hands careful around hers as he took the spoon and the bowl. "Sounds like something I'd learned about back at the Monastery," he said with a lopsided smile. Felt the cold from her hands bleed into his warmth. There it swirled. Hot and cold. He felt the roughness to her skin. Saw the tired in her eyes.

"All of it I mean, the, balance of things. Energies, and... change, real change, the sort that helps people in need of helping," the words were hard to pull from a tired mind. "I think we have different words, for many of the same ideas," he let that sit. Looked down to the bowl in his hands, and the spoon.


"You didn't much seem to like this stuff," he said, remembered what his fellow Magickers felt like after long sessions of training, and a bit of bad weaving. Heavy stews were never favored.

Light. Sweet. Delicate.

"I'll be back," he got up and hurried away, only to return some moments later. A fat bellied pot, loaded with some fire wood and a ladle and spoon, a clean bowl, a small burlap sack, and a little ceramic bottle stopped with a cork. He jumbled over to the fire. Set the things down quick and quiet as he could. Grinned at Dove, like an entertainer to the crowd after an odd step.

"Nothing beats a bit of oat porridge after a touch of Weaver's Lash," he set the pot over the fire. "Oh,I forgot the water," he said as the round iron was licked by the flames. "I'll be right back," he said almost a whisper. Came back with a bucket which he poured into the pot.

The thing about Roki was. He had a habit of sneaking into places he didn't belong. Learned to read the rooms rather quick. Took what he needed. Sometimes snuck it back.

With a spoon, he stirred the water. More habit than anything, as he waited for it to boil. Set another log into the fire. Let the energies settle and stir. The momentum of the water. The wavering heat of the fire. The shroud he carried inside of him. All coalesced the more as he thought on what came next.
 
Oh. Poor Roki.

Dove could only watch as he worked to try and help. 'Fix'. Something that was well, very well out of his control. Dove weakly waved a hand. "N.. No that is not neces.."

"Roki, your efforts are kind, but you do not ne-.."

It wouldn't have surprised Dove if the innkeepers were well aware and involved, but wished to see Dove receive care. Her face remains as stoic as marble, but her eyes communicated the strain, the frustration of not being heard, or understood. So she surrendered, letting him continue to run back and forth from the kitchen. As he worked, she could feel the pressure on him. That pressure.

It was so strange- this world: there was always a pressure, and it simply made things manifest so much easier. Never had healing wounds had been so easy for her. But never had she experienced so much of the emotion, the waves of energy and how they changed everything. Even now, just feeling the shifts of movement- it made her nauseous.

When he finally got within reach, Dove reached out a hand, shaky, and caught him, a gentle tug. "Roki. Your heart is kind. But it is not the kind of love I need right now." she explained. "Sit."

And if he complied, Dove would sigh, taking a deep breath. This was the first person she had exposed this element of herself to, and it still.. made her nervous. She already stood out- and this only added more attention. She worried of the repercussions. Accused of the plague? Reported? Or worse.. A shaky exhale.

She pulled the sleeves to reveal an arm, twisting it so her wrist was facing upward. Looking down, a sight that tainted her pure visage. Deep, ebony black ink seemed to stain and crawl of her skin, veiny and spread. It reached up to the tips of her fingers, sickly and twisted, breaking the porcelain skin. Small feathers near the edge of the poison seemed to wilt, and fall away, as if the very flesh was dying.

".. My people heal through love. We replace the hate with love. That hate is taken upon us. We then purify it within ourselves." she explains. "It feels.. ugly. As hate does. But have hope-" Her fingers point to the bend of her elbow, where the edges of healing could be see, the restoration of color. "I will heal. I just need to rest. That is all." she explains.
 
Roki stared at it wide eyed as he sat. Blinked. Mind emptied of all the things he thought he needed to do to help. To heal.

"Oh," he said, voice a hollow knock. He frowned some. Looked away. Embarrassed at himself. But, he looked back into her deep cherry brown eyes. "I'm sorry," he said easy as a leaf come free in the wind. The fire popped. Hissed. Spat embers up against the fat bottomed pot's belly. His hand reached out to pluck up one of the little feather that had fallen away. He turned it in his fingers.

Remembered the little feather in the pile of wheat. The blood. He cupped it into his palm, and looked to her again. "You don't need porridge then?" he gave a stupid smile. "I can, well," he sat in the silence a moment longer... Smile faded as he looked to her. "Thank you," he said gently. "For, trusting me enough to tell me this," he looked down at the feather in his hand.

Grey and sapped of its gold and silver. Thought on the black veins he had seen course through her arms. Thought how they looked so much like so many things he had seen.

Hate. It fed on hate, did it not? That Blight so near to their Monastery. Another mystery for him to ponder.
 
That very same hand reached up, and cupped his face, pulling his chin upward, like a concerned mother, trying to pep up their child. It was cold, rough, but despite it all, there was a warmth there. A gentle, caring warmth.

"It is alright." She explained. "I.. do not need porridge. I am afraid my stomach right now is a bit sensitive, and will turn at just about anything." she chuckled, before she let her thumb rub the line of his chin. Curiosities stoked about his green skin, his tusks. Roki was probably the first orckin she had ever seen, and of course, she had never seen a shade of purple so vibrant and flush.

"Maybe later." she offered, releasing his chin. "... You have a good heart, Roki. It is not a bad thing. It is a very, very good thing. The best healers in my tribe all had good hearts like yours. It is the most critical component to my art. To have the compassion and care to give with no return." She tilted her head. "It might need.. a little training. But I am confident that it can change the world. After all, all it took was one good heart to save my people from a state of destitution. Who knows how much of impact your kindness could hold?"

"I do ask that you keep this quiet. I have reasons for this. It would mean a great deal to me." she added, her eyes glittering with uncertainity.
 
Spellbound was a way to put it. The trace of her cold touch, almost seemed to bring the heat to the surface of his skin all the quicker. The lines where she'd trailed his bones. The way her eyes looked over him, and how the fire's light played against her skin, like sun come off morning dew. It emptied his lungs of their breath. Made them fill the more as she spoke of his heart.

Spoke of her people. Their healers. That brought a bit of the cool back to him. Change the world?

No. Not him. Not after all he had already done. All he still needed to learn. So he but smiled at that. Nod, as he listened. But who knew what later would bring. Down the road and the flow of time.

I do ask that you keep quiet... To his he stared a long moment. Nod. "You've my word," he said, knelt there beside the couch and bowed his head. "I won't tell a soul," He lift his head, and looked back to the fire. How it went on with its dance. Ate at the wood he had fed it. Gold turned to black, then grey and white. His eyes looked back to hers.

"I've so many questions," he spoke into the air between them. "But maybe they come later," he said as he rose up. "After some rest?" he smiled, tusky and warm. "Is there anything I can bring you?" he asked, and looked to Esther, "Or help with then, to... help rest come more easily?"
 
"I would be happy to answer them." Dove smiled. "But- later." she adds lightly, glancing to Esther. It wouldn't be long now, she imagined, for her parents to collect her and put her somewhere proper to rest. They were most likely just waiting for both of them to leave.

"For now, I need rest." After a moment, she shuffles a bit, and pushes her arms against the rest of the chair, using it as a support to give herself a shaky start, a cautious, careful balancing act. Her eyes close, her breath held, as if somehow that would stop the world from moving just a moment. A sharp exhale, and she looked back to the orckin, a very serious, but kind expression to follow her next words.

"If you are here tomorrow, which.. I imagine you will be.." she noted. Obviously their companion had yet to fully recover. And as much as the gruff knight was barking for revenge, she imagined even he knew it would be rash to leave unprepared, and without a plan or information. At least, she would hope. "I usually come down in the morning and drink tea with the innkeeper's wife. You are welcome to join us." she nods.

A soft wince as she takes a step, a few feathers fly to the ground. "For now, I wish you a good evening."

The healer carefully makes her effort up the stair, guiding herself to the room.

♦

Morning comes, and as promised, Dove was looking much better. Although she still looked a little.. off, her color seemed to be returning, the fair white feathers that had given her repute in this village gaining their brightness again. The bags under her eyes slightly faded. She still remained wrapped, as always, but she was sitting up straight, at the bar near the dining area of the common room, a cup of tea, spiced, with citrus undertones and the sweet aftertaste of honey. A bit of bread with a sort of red berry jam on it. A soft, quiet song, as she always did in the morning, basking in the sunlight as it peeked through the window.

A part of her does hold curiosity for the strange purple haired man from last night. But only time really would tell if he was truly that curious. A silent sip of her tea.
 
He was left in a wake of cold blues and purples as he watched her away. The fire at his back, warm with each jump of its golden arms and wave of its red fingers. Almost inviting him. It was the little hisses and pops. The soft gurgle of simmering, that brought his attention back to the fire and the old iron.

Love. Hate. The blight. He turned it all over in his head.
Thought on how he missed the Monestary. Hiding away in green grass, and spying herons nested in a tree. He looked down to the bright green braid that hung from his wrist. How far away all of it felt. Out here.

After that night against the Pinkrose. How he had seen those same dark tendrils grip about eyes that had been taken. How a knife had pierced him then, and how a different Knight had come to save him. A flare burned red in the sky. A nightmare was born. From blood given willingly. From blood spilled in horror and fear. In hate.

Could love really be rid of such a thing as that?

The fire burned on. Just as warm, and Roki took the kettle and the rest of his cavalcade of failed helpings. Put them back in their place, and went to rest.

Come the crowing of the morning bird, Roki was up and out of bed. Life on the road had helped him build a bit more discipline. And he remembered the horrid mess left in the back of the wagon. So he saw to making ready. Stretched long and languid before he pumped his weight with jumps and squats and odd little crawls and exercises. Part of the fun was keeping quiet whilst he did it. Like a cat. He grinned.

He felt the grime of the road, but thought on the grime that still awaited him behind the wagon. Later then.

Out in the dining room, he had found a bucket once more, and that same fat bellied pot. Was making his way to set it to boil when he caught sound of Dove. His paced steps slowed some and he could smell the citrus and spice waft its warm welcome through the air. His eyes trailed to find her, silvery and pale as mist. She looked like no one he had ever seen before.

"Mornin'" he said brightly with a nod, and stepped across the way. Pot set to fire and filled with water once more. The warm crackles and pops a too familiar song. "And a mornin to you too," he said, tended the nascent flame, helped it catch with a bit of weave work. Helped it grow. Not but a moment, before he came back to the room that smelled of tea and sweet jam.

"Glad to see you are taking a bite," he said warm as a curl of steam. "Wouldn't happen to have any more of that bread, would ya?" he smiled again, bright as was his way.
 
"As promised, I will be fine."

Dove seemed a lot more responsive today, twisting the spoon in a age-stained cup, watching the bronze swirl against the edges of the glass, appreciating the sweet aroma before she took a sip. "I am not the one to ask." Her eyes held a lilted, calm, a warm smile. For her youthful disposition, she took the uniform of an elderly crone, and wore it well. With that, the wife moved to greet Roki. "Of course, do you prefer strawberry? Or would you like a peach jam?" she asked, moving to cut the bread and shuffle the jars about the cabinet, the glass clicking against each other.

"Otherwise, I do actually have a full, right breakfast meal if you would like!" She peers from the corner with a wink. "Dove hardly eats as it stands, I've given up trying to feed her anything beyond a few slices of bread. But you look like you would need something a little more fillin'!" she offers cheerfully. "I have pancakes, and sausage that would fill a grumbling stomach right up." It was beginning to become a little obvious where Esther may have gotten her optimistic energy from.

Dove watched, observant, her eyes glancing between the two to see what Roki would do. Idle fascinations, like watching nature take it's course in the wake of a bright spring dawn.
 
There came a softness to the bright curl of Roki's smile. Aye, she had promised, hadn't she?

Come the offer for breakfast, and Roki gave a sheepish laugh as he curled into himself. Wide hands fanned away the kind offerings, as if to put out a small fire. "No, no, I wouldn't want to ruin any morning rituals," he stood the straighter and eyed the bit of bitten bread with his large golden eyes. The red jam smeared there across its crumb. Caught himself glancing at brown eyes, and how the sun played in them to bring out the reds. His stare flit away.

"And!" he added with emphasis that had him on the balls of his feet, toes ready to tip. "It's been eight moons since I had some strawberry jam, with a good bit of bread," he came flat to the floor again, matter of fact. "So, I'd be plenty happy with that," he nod.
 
For such a large man, he had a very childish demeanor to him. Very young, boyish even. Reminders of the young boys flipping their feathers up at her came to mind when she was younger, the funny faces. It never ruined her poise, but she never forgot the gesture either. It was a spark of warmth. And a spark can carry someone far, even now.

He was certainly the louder of the two, that was for sure. The innkeeper's wife had to stifle a laugh, because it seemed Dove did truly draw the most energetic of people. She wouldn't be surprised if Esther came running in here demanding to sing the morning sun into the sky soon with her. And the comical idea of the three singing the sun into the morning had her smushing her laughter into a pinched face. "You're in luck too! These were made from the finest of last year's summer. Just opened the jar today! I even managed to get my hand on a little bit of vanilla, which really adds something to the mix!" she explains, passing the jam and the bread to the squire. "Can I get ya anything to drink?"

In the interim, Dove looked to Roki. "How are your companions doing? I checked on.. Benli, last night. He seemed to be doing well. I am unsure what to make of the other knight of course." she nodded.


The invitation for conversation and inquiry set, the gate open.
 
"Thank you kindly, Miss," he said as the jam and bread were passed on over. He stepped to the bar, and took the jam into one of his hands. His earthy green fingers paid compliment to the deep red of strawberries. Almost the same color as his tunic.

"The tea smells divine," he said out loud, as pointer and thumb plucked up the jam spoon, dainty like, by its tail. As if he was holding a precious tool, about to do its work. "With a bit of cream if you have some, if not, none the bother," he assured, and dipped the spoon into the bright bodied jam. Came up with just enough jam to spread. A practiced smush and smear, and his lungs took in greedy the feint smell of that far off summer.

His head keeled toward Dove, and he looked to her. "Benli seemed alright this mornin, snoring like a cave troll, but" he shrugged with a smile. "That just means he's well on the mend I think, thanks to your fine work of course," he beamed a moment, and put the spoon back into the jar.

"Lefelen," his eyes rolled away, as if to look through the walls. "He's more worried about what we do next, than his wound," he huffed out a sigh. Pushed away that dark cloud, for the moment. "Recovering well though," he added. Let his eyes find hers again.

"Say..." he let it hang a moment as he stared at her. Brow quirked with curiosity. A bit of jam slunk off the bread and onto his knuckle. "Was that you singing?" he took a munch out of his bread. Was struck by the flavor. "Mmm!" he said as seemed to stretch up from the spine, his plum colored hair set to stand. "That vanilla really is a touch!" he took another bite.
 
She nodded, and let it lay. After all, that was not her battle. In the slightest. And to bring it up would to suggest her attention would be involved with it. That was certainly not the intention. Her eyes danced away, watching the innkeeper return, wordlessly, with a bright smile on her lips, and a small cup of cream with a spoon in it. She sipped at her tea once more, keeping her eyes close against the loud noise. Perhaps the slightest twitch of her feathers towards the side of her face.

Her eyes glanced up. "Hmm?" She thought about it for a moment, before her lips reached to each side of her face in a modest smile. "Your hearing is sharp then." she commented. "Most usually cannot hear from down here."

The cup clicks against the plate. "Yes, that was me. It's just a song to wake the sun. Not that I find that the sun needs anyone's help. But I like to believe that the birds do not like to chirp alone when the morning comes."
 
Come the clink of the cup, and the fresh cream, he nod and gave his thanks.

Looked to Dove again. Smiled at her story. Lingered with the sight of her. "Well that's a lovely," he said with a bit more hush. "Mighty fine being part of a chorus, I think," he nod, and took a spoonful of cream. Poured it into his tea. Watched the clouds rush out and billow into their bloom. "How does it go?" he asked gentle as he stirred the drink a slow measure.
 
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