[flashback]Ouch! (Mara)

[Syllke Skyglow]

Fall 30, 509 AV A mild breeze blew the dark, shimmering hair back from the boy’s face as he ran along behind the team of dogs. There had been a series of warmish days in the past tenday or so, and patches of ground could be seen here and there amongst the everwhite of the now snow covered tundra. Syllke had taken advantage of the weather to get out and have a good run with his sled and three dogs – by far enough to pull the slight weight of boy and wood. He had no particular destination in mind. It was enough to be out and going, though even in the dead of winter, Morwen’s mark and his own restless energy would propel him outdoors, regardless of the bitter cold. Still, it was always enjoyable to feel the last warm caress of Fall, and actually sense the presence of Syna as well as simply seeing her golden orb high up in the bright blue overhead. He had gone as far as the treeline and then curved about to skim across the snow at its edge. His ears had picked up the call of a few birds here and there - ptarmigan and grouse only, as even the geese had already left for their winter feeding grounds. The extreme season hung as an undertone of tang on the soft Fall air. Winter was right around the corner. Prolonging his outing for as long as possible, Syllke had finally turned the sled back towards the city, and had alternated riding on the runners and hopping off to give the dogs a bit of a break. Plus he needed to run, to burn up some of his overabundant energy. It happened right outside the city walls, though in a spot where there were few of the city residents immediately close by. Maybe it was the angle of the sun, just at that particular location. Maybe it was just dumb luck – bad luck. But Syllke had just hopped back on the runners, ready to ride in through the gates which were a bit further on, when the sled hit a bald spot on the ground. He had tried to avoid such, but in his leaping onto the sled, he had not been paying exact attention. In any case, the sled was going full tilt, and all of a sudden, it slammed to a complete stop on the bare frozen dirt. The sled’s momentum was transferred to the boy and he went flying, over the waist high bar and face first onto the frame. His nose made solid contact with the hardwood, and there was a nice crunching sound. One glove somehow managed to rip off as he fell, and that hand skidded across the gravelly surface, shredding his skin along the edge and up his wrist, which turned backwards at an awkward angle. His lip also suffered from contact with the ground, after his face had done kissing the wood of the sled. By the time Syllke too came to a halt, his nose was gushing blood, and he was bleeding from lips, mouth and hand. His wrist hurt like holy hell, and as he rolled over with a moan, he held it up to look at it, then cradled it against his chest. “Crap!” He exclaimed, as the dogs looked back at him, whining, wondering why he was just lying there on the ground.

[Mara]

"Marvasa! Where the hell do you think you’re going?" The voice was an acquainted one, as barking as it had been for the preceding seven, nearly eight years.

Mara cringed at the shrill sound of his name, his head tilting to glance over his shoulder. "Not far." his riposte was simple and non-confrontational as it usually was. He received a huff from behind him, his father grumpily plodding past him, hauling the stale smell of ale with him.

"Don't neglect your chores." the other's mumble seemed vulgar as it replaced the silence that loitered there, a more temperate tone than how it had originated. Mara nodded in reaction, dragging the fabric collar of his jacket securely around his overwrought shoulders, his back still confronting his father.

The hiatus that tailed was taken as a release from the conversation and he took the opportunity to depart out into the sun. His eyes squinted and strained adjusting to the sunbeams that filtered through his dark lashes and scrapped at his pale irises. A loud breathy moan fled from beneath his parted lips, an exhale that had been confined inside his chest until he had placed the first crunching step into the snow.

The air was a caring hand brushing across his cheek, lacking any shudder or pull that any stranger to the city may feel. Instead he simply felt the fingers of Morwen on his honey tinted skin.

His steps were quiet and nimble across the slush, his weight hardly heavy enough to penetrate the denser areas of ice. His exit from the city was not an unusual occurrence and not worthy of note to anyone that may have seen him. He would habitually take his father's medical journals into the open just beyond the gates and sit in solitude, skimming over pages of information from drawings of human anatomy to the proper way to tie a tourniquet.

He settled himself in a familiar crevice between shrubbery and rock, his slender legs crossing and his wrists positioned across his laps with tome in hand and eager eyes. He had not been reading long when the hissing sound of friction over frost and a pack of agile feet sprinting over the ground reached him. He paid little notice as it grew closer until the sound suddenly halted, the sound of something being thrown in a grotesque melody of cracks and a young voice shouting out in displeasure.

Mara's head shot up, torn away from his reading. He hurriedly tucked his book back into his jacket along with his healing kit that was always on his person if the need arose. He stood and took less than cautionary steps down the hill he had marched himself up, sliding in a wave of protesting snow. Finally, just paces from the foot of the slope he had been perched, was his quest's destination.

The body he observed was laying upon the ground with a pack of worried beasts at his beckoned call and a generous display of crimson streaking the foreground. His feet carried him forward swiftly, his deep brown hair whipping in the wind with tendrils of sun graced color.

He slid to the stranger’s side and let his few years of training and study wash through him to examine him. His features gathered into a still mask, but his eyes tinted with pale worry. "Show me." his voice was laced with urgency and his eyes were allowed only to roam over the other's body, but never the other’s eyes. "Where are you hurt? Show me." he repeated with clarity.

[Syllke Skyglow]

Syllke had flopped over onto his back by the time he realized that someone was approaching. The dogs whined and he heard footsteps in the snow – fast ones, heading right towards him. He rolled over just a bit and saw a lanky but not overly tall boy, or young man maybe, coming towards him and within a moment he had come to a sliding halt. The other boy’s eyes roamed over what must have been a lovely display of slight carnage that was now Syllke’s face, and thence they made a quick survey of his body, sprawled as it was half on snow and half on frozen bare ground. Syllke could feel the blood drenching his upper lip and chin and sliding down over his jaw to his neck. There was also a fair bit sliding backwards down his throat and his mouth too seemed full of it. He must have bitten the inside of his cheek pretty badly. His eyes sought out the pair that had now returned to his face, and he saw a look of genuine concern there, and the other one voiced his questions, curt with urgency. Syllke slumped back to the ground, recumbent. His good hand went to the bridge of his nose, pinching it tight to maybe stop the flow of crimson that kept spurting out. He held his injured wrist and hand aloft a few inches above his belly. “Well, this hurts like a demon,” he said succinctly. “And I think maybe I busted my nose. And my lip and cheek.” He managed a chuckle. “Did you see it? Must have been pretty spectacular, huh? I think I did a complete flip.”

[Mara]

Mara cast an eye over over the boy’s features, the deep rose color spilling over his charming features. The sight was fascinating. With each throb of his young, healthy heart another gush would push through the fragmented skin. His palms slithered behind the boys ruffled locks and lifted him onto his folded lap. His expression faltered into one of questioning as the injured spouted excited inquires about his crash. "No." his thin fingers extended into the confides of his pockets to remove his kit. "I didn't see your crash." his voice was milder and more relaxed, released from the full bulk of his worry. He had expected many reactions farther from the one he received. He was usually inclined to think the worst before he could be cut loose in free fall from ill-placed hope.

He took from his items some spare cloth and began to dab at the blood on the damaged face before him. "Let me see that arm." He smoothly took the boy by the elbow and hoisted it to determine its state. "A pretty bad scrape. It doesn't look broken, sprained at worst." He took a small bottle of alcohol out next, purer than what one would usually swill and foul to smell. "This may sting." His free hand laid into Syllke's open palm to offer some comfort. His other hand poured the liquid over the wound in a steady motion, letting the substance fully wash over the laceration, altering the deep red into a mixture of murky blushing clouds, dripping into Mara's lap. He then took an unsullied wrapping and began to encircle any trace of open flesh in the off-white fabric. His hands weaved in and out in graceful, studied motions. It was relaxed now, a process he had known all too well and continued with ease. His mind let go of everything that weighed heavy on his thoughts as he performed and he felt buoyant.

He hesitantly glanced up to the boy's expression with certain curiosity in seeing how he was fairing, taking note of his smooth, handsome features lying dormant beneath the smears staining his bronzed skin. He was young, younger than Mara at least, and an air of brilliance and light engulfed him. It was impressive to see such a thing in someone so obviously aching. He was uncertain if it was the nature of a child that still inhabited the boy, or if someone could really radiate so effortlessly. He felt like a shadow cast across an open space in his wake.

He secured the last of the bandage "Keep this one wrapped. Undo it once a day and let it air out for an hour, clean it, and then redress it." He rested the limb down upon the boy's chest and looked back to his face. "Don't forget, or it will get infected. Then if your unlucky enough to have me as a medic again, I will not be so gentle." he chided him, his hand reached Syllke's cheek and his thumb slid over an escaping drip of blood running over his cheek, with unvoiced tenderness.

"Your face, I'll take more time on. I don't see any reason you should scar."

[Syllke Skyglow]

Syllke relaxed under Mara’s gentle touch and settled down comfortably in the other boy’s lap. He definitely wasn’t the strong silent type, but yet he wasn’t whiny either. When such upsets occurred – which they did with some regularity given his active nature – he could either patch himself up or let someone else tackle the job. He least preferred his grandmother to do this sort of thing, for she would cluck and lecture and try to make him feel guilty for giving her heart palpitations at his – in her mind – daring and totally unnecessary escapades. He most liked to have his mother see to his minor wounds and injuries, for she was quick, gentle and silent for the most part. She tended to understand him better than most. This was a bit novel, being tended to so solicitously by someone close to his age – and one who, though shy in a way, seemed quite confident in his skills. Syllke might have perhaps done well to question how and when this guy had learned to attend wounds. But the artistic side of him, which was really all sides of him, could never be bothered to be distrusting of others. Such negativity drained his creativity. So he preferred to float along in an ignorance-is-bliss kind of state, and rarely had he ever suffered for giving someone the benefit of a doubt. So he lay quietly, letting Mara do as he would with his arm and hand. Besides, his vantage point allowed him to look up into his would-be angel’s face, and Syllke was completely and totally intrigued by the boy’s looks. His head was shaved close all on one side, and the wild wisps that sprouted from the other half of his head caught the bright afternoon light and glimmered iridescently with each passing breath of air. Of course, this was not so unusual for a Vantha. But the effect was quite pretty, being such an odd contrast. The fact that he had holes in his face also captivated Syllke, as he admired the body jewelry the boy sported. It looked exotic and quirky – definitely qualities that appealed to his own aesthetic, though he didn’t display that through personal decorations, but in his art rather. So as Mara carefully washed the long scrapes, Syllke clenched his teeth a bit but focused on Mara’s face as an extremely pleasant distraction from the sharp bite of the alcohol. As Mara began to wrap the wound, Syllke grinned. “That did sting. But not so bad.” His eyes went momentarily to Mara’s hands that worked so deftly weaving the cloth bandage around and about his wrist and hand, noting the hard, black nails. There was so much of interest about his paramedic that Syllke had already forgotten about the burn of the cleansing fluid. When Mara finished and looked back to Syllke’s face, the young artist said with great sincerity, “You’re very talented – your fingers. I’ll try to remember to do as you say, but I’m pretty hopeless when it comes to things like that. If I do forget, and it does become infected – I’ll bet you’re just as gentle. I would come back – to have you do this again.” He smiled more fully, like the sun coming from behind a cloud and illuminating the bright whiteness all around them. “I think you’re brilliant. Thanks – for this.” He raised his hand a slight bit. Mara ran his thumb across Syllke’s cheek and it felt quite comforting. It made him feel something else as well, though Syllke wasn’t entirely sure what it was. It was quite pleasant though. The injuries hurt, and having a spill sucked, but this part was really enjoyable, so far. He thought he’d like it if this boy would always tend to his cuts and scrapes and burns, but that would be a bit silly. They didn’t even know one another. Of course, the gregarious Syllke was going to make sure that changed, right now. “I’m Syllke, by the way. Syllke Skyglow. And don’t worry about my face. A scar might even make it look more . . . impressive. You know – like a great warrior or something.” He laughed. “What’s your name? Hero?”

[Mara]

Again he was staggered, fascinated even, and coming to know his patient more and more with each word that slipped from his unhindered mouth. He was a bloom of smiles and innocent eyes. Had he been freezing he was sure that this boy could unmelt him with just one of those sporting grins. It almost made him more uncomfortable than heart-warmed, almost. "I guess you’re probably right," he admitted to the boy's reference of him likely being gentle even upon a second visit. “…but there are far more talented healers than I back inside the city."

He had spotted the lingering gazes upon his features, his unfamiliar dark nails, his body adorned in a hobby that spawned from a leisured time with razors and needles. One that his father scorned openly and often, and maybe that was the reason he did it. He may have done it to entice a rise from his father for marking the body that, in his father's eyes, was no longer inhabited by his son. It was one possibility among many.

He bowed his acknowledgement to the other's gratitude, and continued about his work, swiping up the remainder of blood upon his appearance. His finger ran gingerly over the bridge of his nose to examine for a fracture. He was surprisingly handed an introduction from the reddened lips so near his hand. Syllke Skyglow, such a flowing name, as to be expected from a full-fledged Vantha, a Skyglow no less. He hoped that the contempt or judgments would never mar this boy, as he seemed to be so untouched by them now.

Syllke joked about a scar upon his face and Mara gave in to the first crack in his mask, letting a slight smirk and a puff of laughter linger above their heads. "What story will you tell them of your scar, great warrior?" he shook his head, a crooked smile barely lingering. "Certainly not that you were thrown from your sled with no danger in sight."

"Hero?" he repeated his brows scrunched together in distaste. "You could not have met many heroes to be tossing the title so freely onto me. My name is..." he paused unsure of what version of his own name to present. A familiar tug, fearing rejection, beckoned him to spout his full name and maybe detour the other from further contact. To turn him away now would be easier than later.

What foolish thoughts to have, but they plagued him still all the more because he actually found this Syllke rather amusing. "Dra-Marvasa Whitevine." his eyes toiled over his work with finality.

"You've got a bit of a break." he interceded before any further reply could be made. He dipped a corner of the cloth into the vial of alcohol and proceeded to clean away the blood from the inside. "I know the smell is dreadful, but you won’t want me touching it after I set it."

Once finished he wrapped a thumb and forefinger around the bridge of the others nose, and leaned closer to him. "Grab onto me, cause this will be more than a sting." he inhaled deeply, coaxing Syllke to do the same. "One...Two...THREE" a quick jerk and a popping sound later, the bone was set properly, each piece realigned as intended.

He pulled back to look into the other's face, his eyes meeting the other’s for the first time, searching for signs of tearing. Stray strands of hair hung from his face, in streams almost close enough to stroke the youths face. "I'm sorry...I'm almost finished." his voice had lowered to a whisper from their close proximity and his teeth pulled anxiously against his lip.

[Syllke Skyglow]

Once again, the amateur healer’s hands began their magic on Syllke’s battered face. Most of the injuries there were minor – the stuff of childhood falls and tumbles. A split lip, a bitten cheek, those would heal well enough and easily, in all probability. Still, Mara took painstaking care to clean all of it, searching with that professional scrutiny for anything of those that might be a cause for real concern. When those delicate, nimble fingers reached his nose though, Syllke tensed instinctively. It really hurt like hell and even that gentle touch made him wince. His good hand came up to curl about Mara’s free one as the other boy examined him carefully, as if he would ask without words for Mara to be extra careful with his ministrations here. He had fallen silent truly, waiting a bit anxiously for the verdict, listening to Mara speak of his name. Dra-Maravasa – that was unusual. But the Whitevine part made perfect sense. Finally he let his diagnosis drop and it fell right to the pit of Syllke’s stomach. He had seen other broken bones set – none of them being his own, surprisingly enough. He wondered if . . . this was going to hurt as much as those others. Or did one even set a nose? He didn’t know, and as Mara dabbed at the copious amount of blood that had flowed all over his face, Syllke wasn’t sure he wanted to ask. Oh, crap – apparently one did, and Mara was going to be that one. As the older boy leaned closer and instructed Syllke to take a hold of him, the young artists needed no further urging. Yep, he knew this one was going to hurt. His fingers clutched into the material of Mara’s coat and he held on – tight – for dear life. “Owwwwww!” he exclaimed loudly, underscoring the pop that emanated from his nose. His body had been one big clenched muscle for a moment, and then it was done, and slowly he relaxed. His fingers loosened though he did not fully let go of Mara. There were indeed tears in his bright eyes, which swirled crimson, a sign of intensity of feeling from any kind of excitement. That other oddly bedecked and fascinating face was close enough to his that Mara could whisper his apology and Syllke felt the warmth of his breath on his own lips. He smiled, though it was more of an effort and nowhere near as bright as before. “Th-that’s OK. You’re the healer. I t-trust you.” He drew in a deep breath, a bit raggedly but it did calm him. Making his body relax further, he subsided back to nestle his head in Mara’s lap. “Worst part’s over, right?” His voice was hopeful, and full of the faith of a child in an adult. Syllke didn’t laugh but he did let out a small giggle. “Some warrior, huh? The hero and the warrior.” His smile returned, its usual sunny self. “At least, that’s what we can tell people. How would they ever know different?” His eyes searched Mara’s and then he added, “Dra-Maravasa? Are you sure it’s not Hero? That so much easier to say.”

[Mara]

Mara looked deeply into Syllke's deep crimson orbs, a hue that evenly harmonized his own on nearly all days. He watched as his glassy eyes tugged into a pained smile despite himself. His own expression warped into structured bewilderment. What exactly would divert him from his merry disposition? He appeared to grit through the discomfort and surface only a little dimmer than he had been beaming flashes before. He drew himself up, and patted the cloth over the boy’s lips. He could not find the words to return when he was told he was entrusted. His cognizance was having difficulty casing around the nature of this patron.

"Yes, the gravest is over, just scrapes and bruises from here on out." his words held a double meaning, one that he told himself many times. The optimism of enduring on with the thought that it can only get better was one that had urged him through many restless nights. These tidings he hoped held less resonance with Syllke, but could be a security none the less.

He plucked a brown wood carved case from his pack, no rounder in diameter than a miza, and only a fingertip deep. He twisted it open, inside was a fragrant smelling balm. It was an ointment his father had been producing, an assortment of ingredients that sheltered open wounds and stultified mild pain, with a chilling tickle. It was a combination of herbs and mint, crushed, melted, and settled down into a gooey eggshell paste. He had pocketed it to attempt and cultivate something similar, but thus far had no luck.

Mara slipped his finger into the vessel. He had been hoarding it for a special situation, if the necessity happened to arise, but this seemed as exceptional as any. His own hand felt the tingle of the fast acting gel sinking in and sending an icy chill through the veins in his hand as he reached for the abrasions on Syllke's face. "Mara." He dabbed his finger first over his cheek, in a lenient unhurried swipe, and then slipped his hand over to the rims of his mouth. "You can call me, Mara, but hush now little warrior for just a moment so I can focus." he continued, applying generous amounts to the smallest of broken skin.

"How is the inside of your cheek? I think I've tended to everything but that." he wiped his fingers across the hem of his pants and grasped at the fabric there, awaiting his answer. "Is it still bleeding?"

[Syllke Skyglow]

Mara’s words of reassurance could only be taken in the very literal sense by the boy he tended to. Syllke had been raised in an environment that hummed with support, encouragement and love. Combined with his own personal typically positive outlook, he would not have need for a mantra to predict that life would somehow improve, for the worst had already been. For Syllke, life was always good, in his limited experience so far. Even this accident had brought him a new and fascinating acquaintance, and he wasn’t the type to just say “Thanks, bye,” and never look back at this young man who had helped him so generously. So he smiled in response, trusting that this healer knew what he was talking about. On a more common sense level, Syllke knew that his spill had not been exceedingly horrific and it was just going to be one in a long series of similar minor misadventures that he had already managed to survive. He watched curiously as Mara brought forth a thimble sized container of wood. When it was uncovered, the sharp smell accosted Syllke’s much abused nose and his nostrils scrunched up. He was going to ask what that stuff was, when the healer offered up a shorter and easier version of his name, at the same time as he began to dab the contents of the little container on the various scrapes on Syllke’s face. Syllke obediently rested quiescent under those careful fingers, though he smirked at Mara’s teasing use of the extremely inapplicable appellation of warrior. It took very little time to see to the abrasions and then he put his question and Syllke was allowed to speak. First, he tentatively prodded, very gently, with his tongue at the place inside his cheek where he had chomped down on it during the fall. The mouth, being so wet, was not a place for fast healing and the cessation of blood flow. If things had been different – if Mara had not come along and if Syllke had been alone to deal with the mess – he would have probably been spitting out copious amounts of blood, from both the damaged nose and the torn cheek. As it was, whatever had entered his mouth had slid down into his belly. He would surely pay for that later on. But so far, the nausea that would come had not yet hit him. As he poked his cheek from the inside, he could still taste the tang of fresh blood. He nodded his head a bit, as much as possible when it lay in another person’s lap. “Yeah, still bleeding,” he replied easily. “You aren’t going to rub alcohol around in there are you?” His voice was not anxious, only clearly in disfavor of the idea. “Or that stuff?” he nodded again his eyes fixed on the container. His tongue made a tentative stab at a scraped spot close to his lips that had already been swabbed with the aromatic ointment. “”It doesn’t taste very good.” He made an audible sniff. “But it smells good. What’s in it? Did you make it yourself?” As they seemed close to being done with the required medical treatments, such as they were, his curiosity was growing, one defense against dwelling over much on his discomfort. His eyes were fixed again on the other boy’s face, and he said, “I like your hair that way. Did you do that yourself too?”

[Mara]

His fingers twined snugly around the textile of his breeches as he heeded with stagnant features to Syllke's response. A smile that viewed uncooperative and unrehearsed slipped between his fastened lips but never impressed his eyes. "No this ointment would not do much good from the inside." He shook his head and along with it shook away his fleeting smile. "It's my father's. I was borrowing it to take a stab making my own. It is some curative herbs from the area and lavish amount of mint leaf," He dabbed his ring finger at a stray glob on Syllke's cheek and placed it to his peeking bud of pink tongue "but your right, the mix makes it a tad bitter. "

He vexed to recall what could be prepared to heal a wound of the mouth more instantly, but found the solution elusive. "Let me see..." he mumbled to himself tilting Syllke’s head by a nimble tap to his chin. He had watched his tongue probing the tender sore and hooked a finger into the cavern of his mouth. His contemplations so surrounded in his existent labor, he did not notice the awkwardness of his actions. He did not have to pull hard to find what he was looking for in the bright morning light, which easily lit the dark cave of the Vantha's injured mouth. The puncture was inflamed by now, and obviously not without a bite of sensitivity. "I don't want to have to suture it...I think this can be solved more pleasurably than that." he hummed a soothing comfort. He had an idea of what could be done, but wanted the boy to decide what he wanted for himself. His company made him both at ease and apprehensive all at once.

"I like your hair that way. Did you do that yourself too?"

His inner monologue of surprise nearly slipped out upon hearing this, and he insecurely swiped at a few dangling strands hanging in front of his eyes just to have them fall eagerly back into place. He suddenly felt the need to pull his fur hood up over his ears, but stopped himself. "I did. Thank you."

Mara's sights darted away, flicking over the abandoned sled and anxious mutts sitting as forgotten observers. "For me to take care of that mouth, you need to come back with me." he nodded toward the cities gates. “Or if you so wish have someone else finish the job.”