Dove clicked her tongue a bit. There is a moment to pause. "I normally sing this in my language, which is a little hard to teach. You would need to be able to make some noises that are a little hard to.. say. So forgive me for the very rough translation." She notes.

Her voice is still so soft, despite it's singsong tone. Like the chirping of birds-waking up on a frosty spring morning, the mist obscuring the sun and spreading it's warmth through it's veil. A beautiful sight. But one easily missed if you're not paying attention. You could almost miss the words to the crashing of dishes in the kitchen sink not too far away from where they were sitting.

"Wake up, mother light.
It's very dark and cold.
The world is a bit too quiet,
And the flowers have started to fold.
The moon is yawning in the sky,
And so are the stars as I am told
Wake up, mother light.
It's time to bring the warmth.

Wake up, mother light.
We're all tired of the night.
The crickets are done singing.
And the stars are out of sight.
We're all waiting for you, love
We're are waiting for your might.
Wake up, mother light.
It's time to bring the morn.

Wake up, mother light.
The nightmares are very near.
There are ghouls in the shadows.
And there is hate and fear.
But you can lead to a new day.
You can save what we hold dear.
Wake up, mother light.
It's time to give us hope."

She pauses for a bit. Her nose scrunches a bit, as if not satisfied with how it sounded. Perhaps some things were not meant to leave their native tongue.

"Our people sing quite a bit. It is a very good way to spread love."
 
Roki sat, eyes wide as he watched her sing. Soft and quiet as her voice was. It carried through the chill morning air. Danced with the steam of their cups. And almost got lost in the clatter and clink of the dishes. But he had good ears.

The song came to an end, and Roki found himself leaning forward. The melody still flitting through his ears. Rising and falling, and rising again.

"Well," he said, at a loss of his usual zing and zap. None the less warm. None the less roused. "Left me all in tingles and goosebumps it did, so it certainly seems that way" he said with a smile. Took another bite of his bread. He tried to hum the tune a moment. Find its gentle flow between chews. Passed the food down with a bit of tea.

"Wake up mother light...
The Crickets done singing..."

He cooed into his cup. Shook his head, felt his cheeks run ruddy with warmth. "Ah, sorry, it's just, a real drop of morning dew, isn't it?" he laughed, and took another sip.
 
Dove's chuckles a bit into the glass, calm and knowing. "I know it is quite a bit to bear, don't worry." she smiled. "It's quite a sight when we are all gathered to sing the sun into the morning. Or whenever we have one of our festivals. And sometimes, a song is a point of lesson. I used to keep a harp in my possession for a long time. Unfortunately, I no longer have one. But perhaps when my journey comes to a pause- I will acquire another." She smiled.

"But, I imagine, on your journeys, you most likely see quite a few sights worth beholding. I bet it must be exciting." There is some words of encouragement, trying to ease the mage's fluster.

"At the very least, if it consoles you, I have never seen anyone with that color of plumage before." she lifted her chin as if to point at his hair. "It is a very rich color. How lucky." She commented.

".. Earlier, in the cart, you were.. doing something, right? What was it?" she asked.
 
A real chorus then. He found himself thinking, which spurred on his wonder. Did they all look like her? Their feathers and hair as pale and gold as the dawn beams themselves?

Did they all turn grey? To take in the hate.

"A harpist?" he sounded too curios. Eyes bright as they flit to her with interest, and he grinned all tusky. Felt his heart flutter the more. He nod as she spoke on.

"World's a beautiful place, there's no doubt in that," he assured eyes full of her, and was caught aback by her compliment. A hand passed through his hair with a little bristle of pride. "Ma and Pa used to say the same thing," his eyes fell back to the cup of tea. "Lucky as lavender," he said with that sweet ache of old memories.

Come the last question, he was popped out of the warm balm of memories, stirred with the morning's events. "In the cart," he said, keeled his head to her once more. Eyes a tad colder as he felt his spine stiffen.

"You mean the weaving?" his nose was full of the scent of iron. He turned his eyes down to his own hands. Felt them tremble some against the cup. He took a breath deep into his lungs, and let it spill out slow. "Um, well," he cleared his throat. "That's what we've learned to call it, in the Monastery, back home," he settled on a smile. Remembered the old stones, so tangled in moss and vines. The fields they tended, and the songs they sang during their own morning rituals.
 
Reflexively, Dove reaches one hand, placing it gently on their shoulder. Heavens- she knew it was rough on him yesterday- but she didn't realize that it had stained him so deeply. The poor thing must have been traumatized by the scene. Holding someone's life in your hand, especially when you are not trained to do so- it's a terrifying thing. The tips of her fingers rubbed into the fabric, pushing into the tissue beneath, while her other arm held her up.

".. Weaving?" There was a bit of perplexity in her voice.

She was curious. But curiosity can wait. "I have questions. About this 'weaving'." she trailed.

"But, you don't seem.. Okay." she frowned. "Is this about yesterday? Do you maybe.. want to talk about it? It seems to be weighing heavy on you. I can feel it from here."

Whether she intentionally meant that or not- was left to debate. But her face was pursed in a frown, eyes dimmed with worry, a bit of the silvery locks falling forward from her hood. "At the very least, perhaps I can lift the weight off of you, for the interim." she offered.
 
His eyes were wide and open windows that lead to far off places. Red with knives and nightmares turned flesh.

"No," he said flatly. Shook it away as he turned his head. Made himself laugh as he fanned the worry with a hand. Drank his tea. Took a bite. Still felt it there beneath the surface. The tension. The pressure.

"It's," he said after he chewed some, tasted the sweetness of summer strawberries, with a touch of vanilla, and swallowed. "It's not about yesterday," he said it with more heat in his voice than he had intended. Shook his head. More stiffness that crept up his neck. "I'm sorry," he said lower beneath his breath. Felt his brow knit, and his mouth quiver and set to a frown.

He looked to her, eyes clearly wanting there beneath a smile forced. That didn't seem right. "Maybe, maybe later?" he said with a shake.
 
There is a pause. Contemplation. She could feel the pain. The unease. The disruption of energy as she could feel underneath the tips of her fingers. She dare not unravel it, inspect it. One, from lack of knowledge, but two, even if she did- it would feel.. Wrong. Perversed. But- they were a sweet lad. Someone who seemed to deserve the feeling of love, peace, and serenity. And removing those barriers- that was part of her duties. At least, as she perceived them.

".. That is okay. You do not have to speak of it. But you were very brave, and kind yesterday. And I appreciate your company this morning. Is it okay if I offer you a gift from my people?" she asks softly. "I believe you will like it. It will help you."

"Join me. Over there."

She points to a couch, situated by a window. The sun danced against the worn fabric, bits of dust ignited by light, giving it a cozy, magical atmosphere. If the feeling of hearth could be created into a spell, it seemed to be cast in it. She would walk over to the couch, spread her hands and pat the other side in the form of an invitation.
 
He wanted to tell himself all the ways he had failed to be brave. That he could have and should have done better. Was hard to do when she set those eyes on him. Like she could see right through him. Down to those parts he didn't want anyone to see. Didn't feel so bad that it was her though.

Was its own kind of horror, really.

He looked down at the dregs of his tea as she got up. At the bit of bread with its jam. Was really nice, wasn't it? And she had invited him to it. Night before after all his hullabaloo. And the way she had calmed him. Yesterday upon the wagon. When the fear had him.
A long breath pushed out of his nose. Small nods, as if he looked for a rhythm to follow. Went over and sat next to her in the sunlight. Hand there beside hers on the plush cushions of the couch.

Shy. Almost afraid. His eyes scanned about the window. Followed the dust and the rays of light. Landed on her. Hint of happy curl there at the corner of his lip.
 
Once he was on the table.. Dove glanced around the room, a soft form of hypervigilance that took the form of a bird being alert and aware, the soft plumes of her ears gently sticking out from their fabrics as she scanned the area. Without a single world, she shuffled herself, repositioning herself, crossing her legs, and with her hands, she gently tugs on Roki, encouraging him to rest his head onto her lap, the tips of her fingers pushing away stray locks from his face, caring and nurturing. "Thank you. I promise, this will not be something you regret."

She paused, pulling down the hood of her robe, letting her hair fall free as she leaned down, the deep brown eyes peering intently into his. "This.. this may feel weird. I have found in my travels that what I am capable of doing is very rare. I will stop, if you request it. But- I can see when someone is drowning. I do not know what you are drowning in. But if I help you swim- you will overcome that ocean." The side of her lips curl. "I believe in that. I believe you can."

Her hands reach over Roki, one hand over his head, the other over his throat. Although there doesn't seem to be anything visual, Roki would feel a pressure. A strange one. It felt like the shroud, but it had intent. Feelings. It searched, not invading, not pulling at him- but alongside him, a warm comfort, inside himself.

Her hands would move, hovering below his chest, her eyes closed in focus, to his chest, his stomach. To the sides of his body. And as she did- that pressure continued to move. And much like discovering a sore muscle that is knotted, if Roki was sensitive to it- Roki probably experienced emotional intensity. Moments of great sadness. Moments of great regret. Perhaps even flashbacks, as the graceful presence grazed the edges of those moments.

She moves her hands back to his head. Only then, do the tips of her fingers gently touch his temples. And there, the softest white spark. "I am going to start with here." And that pressure would surround that sore moment, easing it, feeling like a warm hug embracing a long lost love. The pressures interwined, gently poking each other. Sometimes, Dove would express discomfort on her face. But with each 'nudge', if she was effective- the intensities start to grow weaker. As if certain things that would suffocate- suddenly could be stared at. Breathing. Even if it was hard, fast.

When the 'knot' is soothed- Dove pulls her presence away. Quietly, she asks. "Should I continue?"

There is a patience. Understanding. Awaiting.
 
With bated breath, Roki watched Dove make ready, and odd thought popped into his head.

Was she making a nest?

His face flushed warm all the way up to the points of his ears at that. Then she tugged at him. Welcomed him unto her lap. His eyes felt double wide, and his chest felt hollowed out. Breath gone as he seemed to float his way down to rest against her.

Soft and warm, with the loose fabrics of her clothes there to envelope him. What felt like down feathers there beneath his head, and the rest of her too.

He blinked as she stared down at him. Her gentle touch pushing away his hair. His breath loud between his ears, his heart, thumped hard against his chest.

No, he couldn't see how he would come to regret any of this. Sun in the spill of her hair, a look in her cherry heart eyes the likes he could not name. All he knew is that it eased him, no, soothed him. Down his spine. Through to the tips of his fingers and toes, set to wiggle and curl.

She believed in him.

He was glad one of them did.

And he could feel himself believe in her. He needn't know why.

Come the tender touch of her hands upon his head, upon his throat, his eyes went wide. A gasp for breath and a shiver down his spine. Hot and cold. Turned electric. Turned to warm wave. A downpour coursed through him, followed wherever her fingers seemed to go.

A summer's rain. Reprieve from heat. A promise against the cold. A memory to carry with him into the long dark that was sure to come. As all dusks came after bright dawns.
Farewell to his mother and father. Long nights of crying like the child he was. His sister there to comfort him on those nights he missed their wagon home. Their frog ponds and frog races. The food their father cooked. The stories their mother told.

All wreathed in flame. Fire he had let loose. Fire he had wielded, come the hunting hounds of the Bellamy. All the woods ablaze. And he, there possessed by it. The corvodii, burned and wounded. Because of him.

Tears run down his face. His brow screwed tight. He had cried tears for them then too. Those he hurt. Those lives that he had fed to the blaze.

Her hands trailed back up. Touched against his temples. Sent a flash that had him hitch and squirm. Almost afraid to drown.

She spoke. He nod.

It was not the fire that still haunted him. It was the hate. It was the fear. That which he felt for the Bellamy. That which he had felt for the Sightless. The Scion Pinkrose. And the eyeless man who had stuck a knife in his gut. Left him on the forest floor to bleed while all the blood spilled beneath that starry night was sucked up and up and into that monster's eye.

Roki's eyes were wide. His breath steady his fingers digging into the couch. Seeing the horror so clear in his eyes. Surely he would drown. Surely he would die. Yet there it was. The warmth.

That same feeling pushed through his hand. Gold and white, and traced of silver feathers. Eyes of deepest brown, and strawberry jam. He blinked, and she was there above him still. His breath fast. Deep.

Should I continue...

"I," he grasped with his voice. For something. The midnight was still there, but it was, different now. "I don't know," he said as he looked at her eyes. At her hair. Felt the wetness about his eyes, the streaks that ran cool down his face. He reached up and traced the side of her face with his own hand. "Are you real?" ran his fingers through her hair. "It doesn't hurt you?"
 
Well. Even if he felt confident he could continue, Dove would have refused and probably guided otherwise. Her eyes softened at his touch, seeing something she had witnessed far too many times in the people she had helped. Brushing against the side of her face, his fingers met the silky touch of soft downy feathers, warm, delicate. One hand reached to clasp her fingers around his, holding it with a tender heart, massaging the back of his hand. Soothing at the least. Grounding at it's best.

"I am real. It does not hurt me." she cooed, with a mused confidence. Her eyes closed, a surface level scan of the work she had done, before she continues to speak- professional but kind.

".. I think, for now, this would be fine. The heart can be weighed, and knotted up by the things that you have experienced. On one end, it's a lesson well learned to help you. On the other, sometimes, that lesson is like barbed wire. No matter how you hold it, it still hurts you." she explained.

"And when hate is given the room to grow- it will block, poison, and sabotage every fiber of your being." There is a soft, knowing nod.

"I have.. moved- the feelings, is the best way to describe it. Made it so that the other aspects of you may flow to the other parts of you that have been neglected, and need it." She pulls his hand away from her face, encouraging him to rest his hand back towards his body. "Because sometimes, your destination is along a certain way- but if there is something in the path, you will run into it. And it can disrupt the journey. Make it painful. And perhaps stain the reward that awaits you at the end. Those barriers are no longer there."

She holds one finger up. "However- I moved them. That does not mean I have erased them. My people usually.. build rituals, and habits with those who hurt of heart and mind to help complete the healing process. I might not have the chance to do that with you- meaning, you may need to look at those things, learn the real lessons you were supposed to learn from them without that guidance. Otherwise, those barriers may come back." she paused. "But, I believe in you. I believe you can conquer them without being drowned."

Her ear feathers twitch, and she looked to the stairs. With a quick tap of his shoulders, she reaches under him and encourages to sit up. The heavy weight of a warrior's steps were padding down the hall. Call it a hunch, but he probably would not have been amused to see Roki in such a compromised position.
 
It was something like a dream. One she was gentle to tend him out of. A guiding hand and a careful tone, as words were put to her ministrations, and the cold fear that had been there, turned to cool and flowing calm. A river, and Dove had been a sunbaked stone to which he could cling to. If just just to find his feet.

She believed in him. How much that meant to him.

The sound of footsteps approaching, familiar, if a little off beat. Roki's eyes went wide as he hurried to sit up straight. Hands in his laps, spine straight, head high with a look too serious there in the scrunch of his brow and flat set of his lips.

1745000092814.webp"Roki-" The bark cut to a murmur. "Oh, you are already here," Syr Lefelen grumbled, looked to the healer beside the squire. Gave a nod of acknowledgement. Moved across the dining room, a slight limp to his leg. "I will be going to meet with the townspeople," he said as he moved toward the exit. "It would do well for you to join, Squire, there is much to learn in speaking with the small folk," he paused by the entryway. Looked back over his shoulder. "If you need rest after the last day's events, then take it whilst you can, but make yourself useful," and with that he was out.

Roki exhaled. His shoulders sagged, and his head hung easy. "Well," he looked to Dove. Lips crooked like a spark struck from flint. "Guess that's it for now then," he ran his hand through his plum colored hair. Set his shoulders back, and stood. He turned to look upon her. His expression softened. "Maybe... we can speak more, later?" his voice hitched, and he turned a shade of earthy rouge from embarrassment. Eyes flit away, as he still smiled.
 
Dove blinked back at the knight, hiding the discomfort his strict, gruff demeanor presented to her. It's not that folks like Lefelen were inherently foreign to her- just that there was a lingering injury that still required it's own healing. And oh how webs can interwine, even when they're so far and distant from each other. The land was large. The mind was not. She remained quiet, letting him speak, letting Roki lead the interaction, stomaching the desire to stand and walk away. When he left, she turns to Roki, smile patient and kind as always.

Almost like it was always there. Consistent, in a way that was almost uncanny.

"Of course. We can speak more later if you wish. However, it seems you have quite a few duties to attend to. I would go and tend to them. There will always be a morning to sing to later." she smiled.

She takes her stand, gently fanning out her hands over the wrinkles in her tattered robes, as if something in the gesture would truly fix what it was. "For now, I do need to continue resting. Be gentle on yourself. The seeds of hope only grow when you give them room to do so." she held one finger up, before quiet foot taps make their way back up the stairs. Meanwhile, the innkeeper gives Roki a wave. "I prepared something for your friend. Perhaps it might put a smile on his face!" she offered. A small- well, not so small breakfast fitting a night. The smell of sausages, eggs, some toast. A little bit of fruit.

"Best get out of here. Esther's gotten some very interesting ideas over the night, and she'll be waking up soon." she warned.
 
Roki watched as Dove made away. Blinked.

What had just happened?

His eyes scanned down to his chest. Palm flat against where delicate hand had traced lines across him. Up his neck, to the side of his head. Through his hair one last.
Most strange of all was the smile. While he had been swimming in his fear, he could not see it so clearly as he had just then. A thing almost fixed. Like a mask tied on tight. He stared a moment longer at the empty stairway, until the innkeeper made her offering. He found his own smile quirked quick to the corner of his lip. Right tusk showed just a it more than left.

"I'll be sure he gets it," he said, and gave the kindly woman a bow. He would run it to Lefelen, who would grumble and complain, but ultimately devour the meal, and then the two would make for the town hall to take account.

It was a dry and tiresome affair. Though Lefelen always seemed up to such tasks. Stick of oil pastel a scribble and scrabble across pages of his folio.

Names of like volunteers.

What experiences they had.

Skills. Knowledge. Quick script he eventually let Roki do. Then Roki had no choice but to pay attention. Make sure he didn't miss a detail. Peoples lives put to scribble and scratch. It made the hours stretch long and slow. And when they came back, the wagon still needed cleaning.

Water set to boil. Fire thanked and spoken to. He spilled the hot liquid, with a hint of pine oil he kept with him, onto the wagon bed. Set to srub, scrub, scrub the blood out beneath the overcast sky. Whistling a tune, turned to hum, turned to song as arms pumped and pushed and swept out the stains.

Wake up, mother light...
The nightmares are very near...

Whistle-di-doo

You can save what we hold dear...
Wake up, mother light...
 
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